Roaring Dragon
by Star-Of-Radiance
Summary: A boy was abducted, tortured and brutalised. Years later, as a great commander, they predicted him for the pinnacle of greatness. Yet he is unsure. But a mysterious family connection to the greatest sorcerers in history emerges... Along with a Dark Lord. Now his family has become the hunted. To save them, he must earn the powerful legend he is destined to achieve
1. Chapter 1

The Dragon's Beating Heart

" _ **Without adversity and trials we may never know what we are capable of."**_

 _ **Lailah Gifty Akita**_

 _1_ _st_ _June 1952…_

There was emptiness. And silence, except for the beating waves of the beach. The water sparkled blue, reflecting the cloudless skies above, save for the white frothing waves that crashed onto the light golden sand. Shells and even bits of coral were scattered about, along with a few strands of seaweed. Barnacles on boulders. Nothing odd.

There was a loud sharp _Crack_. In a swirling blur of movement two wizards dropped onto the sand.

They immediately stood, alert and watchful.

One wizard snarled. He was feral in terms of his teeth. His hair was black, and his eyes green. He was thin, the same was a stick is thin, but a knotted stick, as he seemed to be hunched in an attack position- if he was an animal, his teeth would be bared and his hackles would have risen.

The other wizard, stood tall and calm. He was black-haired- a deeper black than the other, and it was somewhat neater, though tangled and falling casually but elegantly about him, strands blown by the sea-breeze. His eyes were a piercing, deep blue, so intense that anyone would have been unnerved or awed. His features were elegant- fair skin, an angular face, with high, chiselled cheekbones, and a sculptured, straight, slim nose and a sensitive mouth. Right now, he was glaring icily at the other man with something that spoke of determination and nothing less than courage.

After a silence, he then spoke. "Stop at once, Parkinson."

Parkinson snarled, but it was clear he was trying too hard. He was seriously afraid of the other man, but was trying hard not to show it.

"I will not stop. Nothing will end with my death. The Dark Lord will rise, I promise. And we will defeat them all."

"The Dark Lord is gone," the other man said. "Grindelwald lies, rotting in the same prison-fortress that he built. None can claim the title of Dark Lord, and no one ever will."

"You're wrong," Parkinson tried to sneer. "Soon another will rise, stronger and more powerful than Grindelwald had ever hoped or dreamed to be. He will cleanse the world of mudbloods and their filth, and they shall never trouble us again."

The other man's eyes narrowed. "He will fail. And so will you. Now _stand down_."

Parkinson froze and twitched, barely noticeably. That was the only warning the other man got, before Parkinson whipped out his wand and shouted, _"Avada Kedav-"_

But he never got to finish. His opponent's bare hand whipped out and Parkinson's wand went flying through the air. Startled, Parkinson looked back to where his wand had gone, and would have run, if his enemy had not made a swiping motion, this time, with his wand.

He tripped and rose several feet in the air, before plummeting down like a comet and being pinned to the ground.

"It's over," he snarled coming over to his felled opponent. Parkinson flailed weakly, but found that he couldn't.

"You will not stop us," he wailed. "Then perhaps we will destroy what you have fought for," the victor said calmly and icily.

And with that, the fight was ended. And Rhaegar Artrigos stood icily watching his opponent.

* * *

 _Kataris City- unplottable and hidden in Germany…_

"It's over," Someone snapped. Rhaegar looked up and saw Harald snarl that word. "They just have yet to accept it."

"No, it is not over," Rhaegar said. "The fact that they are willing to die, still signifies that there is something to fight for. Or _someone_."

Everyone turned to him.

Rhaegar stood in the war council room, only his profile was visible to the others, due to the dim lighting and the fact that he was turned from them.

"You have something to say, Commander?" Harald asked icily.

He turned slightly to them, tilting his head. "Yes," Rhaegar said. "They _were_ willing to die. And so it is not over."

There was a stunned, and shocked silence. Before Harald pounded his fist against the table, making everyone, but Rhaegar jump.

"Grindelwald's era is over!" He yelled at the ignoring commander. "The Dark Lord lies rotting in a fortress, his wand stripped from him, his powers broken. No more can he take strength and manipulate others to do his bidding. No more can he try and conquer the world! His time is gone for good!"

"Maybe," Rhaegar scoffed. "But only him."

Everyone visibly tensed. "What do you mean, Rhaegar?" A witch named Rosana asked. Rhaegar turned to her.

"Isn't it obvious? When I questioned Parkinson, he gave slip that another claimant to the title of Dark Lord is on the rise."

"Lies and Delusions," Harald scoffed. "A dreamer and nothing more, with neither the power, nor the dark knowledge to conquer a tiny hamlet, much less a continent."

Rhaegar didn't say anything, but he knew what no one else did. There was a claimant to that title- and this person had potentially more power than Grindelwald.

He had just chosen to wait.

But Harald, better than any other, would loathe Dark Lords and Ladies, Dark Magic and Pure-blood Supremacy. Harald had been in school, the same age as Rhaegar, when Grindelwald took over, and violently began to torture, kill or enslave any who opposed him. Members of Harald's family felt that they had an obligation to stop Grindelwald and his supporters- to their own cost. Harald's own father had killed himself before they could take him for questioning. He had attempted a coup. So did the others. Harald had been sent to a prison-camp and made to work, arduous labour, nearly dying of starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, disease and whatever else. He somehow managed to escape- it was an once-in-a-lifetime feat, but his mother and sisters were killed.

Harald would never want those days to come back again. Rhaegar of all people, knew the cost. He too had fought in the wars against Grindelwald, but to his amazement, it was his old transfiguration teacher that defeated the Dark Lord single-handedly.

Rhaegar knew that it was not the end. Another would rise, stronger and more powerful than ever, and nothing and no one could stop him when it was too late. And he even knew that person's name.

The legendary commander might have won many battles, but this time, it was not the kind he could win. Not without proof. Not without witnesses.

And there was no way to prove it.

Rhaegar could bring someone forwards, but he risked endangering the ones he loved- his sister and her son.

He could not tell the name of the man whose existence haunted their lives and whose very life threatened the ones he loved the most.

Including his own wife.

Walking to his own rooms, she was there. The one woman he loved, the only woman he had ever had a connection and an understanding with, besides familial love.

The only one who was there and who knew him for who he was.

His only source of sanity, he thought ruefully as he made his way there. He knocked.

She was there, she looked up when she saw him.

She was sitting in front of the fire. Never before had a vision of such impossible, breath-taking and surreal beauty graced the eyes of humans. Her graceful, willowy and perfect form was framed by thick, rich, silky hair, so deep a black, it was darker and more luminous than polished jet, capturing and reflecting the light infinitely brighter. No painting or sculpture, or even a dream, could ever compare to this. She radiated light and her skin glowed flawless and exquisitely fair, brighter than the moon and stars. Her almond eyes framed by thick black lashes were more luminous than gems. Even Rhaegar who had seen her thousands of times, was struck by her spell.

Only one thing gave such reasons away. Her delicate ears. Her hair sometimes revealed ears with tapering tips. This was no human.

She stood and the two of them embraced tightly.  
"I've missed you," he breathed in her scent.

She nuzzled close to him, then pulled back and kissed him. She had a heart-shaped face and the most delicate, feminine features he had ever seen. Feminine and delicate, but not perfect. Her cheekbones were fine and high but her other features, the nose, dainty, delicately-pointed and upturned- retroussé- her mouth unbelievably lush, a reddish, rosebud mouth, and the large eyes a cross between almond and doe eyes were not perfectly proportioned, though flawless themselves. Yet these were what increased her beauty, gave her feature and made it more breath-taking. She truly shimmered with shining beauty.

Rhaegar kissed her again. "Trouble?" She asked him, her voice, melodious, clear and high.

He breathed out a sigh. "You have no idea, Alarissa."

She sighed and pulled away from him.

"Have you spoken with your sister?" She asked. "She didn't have any others like _it_ , does she?"

Rhaegar shook her head. "None, I checked all of them."

"Her clothes?" She asked. "Her jewellery?" "She didn't have much, save for the locket into her marriage," Rhaegar said. "And no, I checked them anyway. Including her wedding ring."

Alarissa shook her head. "There must be something." Rhaegar grimaced. He sank into a chair. "If only it were that easy," he muttered.

She went over to him, and knelt by his side on the carpet. "Nothing is ever easy," she said. "That makes triumph all the sweeter."

He smiled, and his mind wandered as he stroked her ineffably lovely face. How long was it?

* * *

 _May 1_ _st_ _1929_ ….

Rhaegar ran tearing through the woods. "Come on, hurry, we're almost there!"

Freed from the cage, the young girl looked fearfully about her.

He ran, clutching her tightly to his form. She stumbled, but he picked her up. He was strong. He had grown strong. And the numerous floggings and curses he had received did nothing to deter his increased strength, nor him from his goal. Not when he had something to lose.

Covered in blankets, the young girl clutched gratefully to him. Her lovely face peeked from beneath the blankets. Her eyes were an impossible, rich brown, like melted chocolate hinted with pure molten gold.

"Come on now," Rhaegar said desperately. _Don't stop, don't fall- and don't give up- not now!_

Not when he had so much to lose- most of all, her.

"Here," he said, lifting her slight form and placing her on top of the raft. It was tightly bound with wood. She grabbed the paddle, and he pushed the raft out onto the sea, wading until it was waist-high, before he jumped aboard.

He grabbed another oar. "We have to be careful," he said. "They'll notice-" but before he could finish, shouts and yells of alarm and rage filled the air. Jets of red and green light shot through the night sky.

Soon they would be after them, like Nundus on a bloody human carcass.

"We have to go- fast!" Rhaegar said. He was desperately wishing for a wand- he didn't have one. Or an invisibility cloak. He could conjure no shield-charm, nor disillusionment charm without a wand.

He was almost ten years old. And the young girl, next to him- one of the Fey, or a Veela, as some call them, was one year younger. He was an underage, undeveloped wizard.

But not untrained in some ways. Despite being disadvantaged, Rhaegar panicked, despite being used to the worst, including torture.

And with it, came an unexpected pull.

The raft swirled and swished the water beneath them, and tugging, pulled itself with an alarming speed, barely giving time for the children to grab hold, before it propelled to unknown destinations.

* * *

 _1952…_

Rhaegar smiled. He kissed her passionately again.

"What were you thinking of?" She asked him.

"The day we were free," he whispered. She smiled. Her brown-gold eyes glowed and turned violet as she kissed him again.

 _Not too far away…._

Athelinda sighed, and closed her eyes. It had been a long day.

Her son murmured in his sleep, unconsciously snuggling closer to her, beneath the blanket. Her Sigurd.

It had been too long a day in the shop. She had chopped up ingredients, ordered stocks on new varieties, re-organized the whole store. Not to mention the hours spent cultivating with tenderness, potions which few could make- with the exception of love potions, Felix Felicis and Dark Potions, of course.

Athelinda believed in merit through hard work, and in the free will of love. And most of all, she loathed dark magic more than anything.

Including her own husband. Athelinda fingered the wedding ring she wore on a ribbon around her neck. Why she still kept it, she could only wonder.

Sigurd stirred and murmured in his sleep. "Precious, little thing," She cooed, kissing him, while he smiled in his dreams, before she too fell asleep.

* * *

 _The bite of the chain was cold around her neck. She choked and struggled to breathe._

 _The emeralds glinted evilly in the serpentine shape encrusted upon the locket's surface. There was a harsh, mocking laugh._

" _Did you think you can escape me?" He whispered. "I was always with you. You will never be rid of me."_

 _A ghostly shape emerged from the locket, which had opened itself. A figure whom she once knew. A handsome, black-haired young man, with pale skin and dark eyes._

 _She screamed and tried to get away, to claw herself away from him if she could._

" _Hussshhh," he whispered, crooning as if to a snake. She had fallen, she must have, since she was now down._

 _He knelt down and kissed her. "You know, I will always follow and find you. You will never be rid of me. Even if I have to rip your soul out of its very shell, the way I did mine, and tear it in two, I will._

" _I will find you, Athelinda. I will always find you."_

 _And his hand, pale, long-fingered, but now skeletal, like pale five-legged spiders, or a hairless Quintaped, rested upon her heart, and its weight was heavy and cold, as it sucked the life away from her._

* * *

 _In Hertfordshire Britain…_

Katerina sighed as she rolled the letter up. News from her son.

Rhaegar had written to her. They had come close, but not close enough. The High Council will need more convincing.

But not from her daughter. Never from her daughter, or her grandson.

Athelinda and Sigurd would remain safe, if it was the last thing she did- they all would.

And their secrets would be forever hoarded within their hearts and souls. Right?

There was nothing she wouldn't do for any of them. She admitted.

Nothing at all.

And so the matriarch of the family stood, fearfully wondering what would come next.

They would wait, and until the day their secrets were threatened, and their cover blown, then she would panic.

* * *

 ** _Yeah, yeah, I know. The name Rhaegar is from_ Game of Thrones/A song of Ice and Fire _, but I really REALLY liked the name! As for the surname Artrigos- that will be explained later on, but it comes from the Celtic 'Artos' meaning 'Bear'_** _ **and the 'Rigos' bit means 'king'. I had to change the name several times, now. First it was Avantador. Then it was Drakarere. But I think- hope- this is the final change. As for the name Alarissa, that I admit comes from the book**_ **In the Forest Fey** _ **. Check it out.**_

 _ **This is part two of the**_ **Dragon's Child** _ **series. But I swear, by far, it's better than**_ **Lady of Serpents** _ **\- that was not my best fanfiction! But it's the same family. I just changed the surname. This however, I promise to be much better.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Oh, yes. I forgot to mention. If you haven't read Lady of Serpents- it's actually Ok! This may be part two, but you don't need to know everything from there!**_

* * *

Everything has Changed

" _ **A person needs new experiences. They jar something deep inside, allowing you to grow. Without them, it sleeps- seldom to awaken. The sleeper must awaken."**_

 _ **Frank Herbert**_

 _30_ _th_ _June 1952…_

Rhaegar smiled as he beheld the sleeping face of his wife. Even in sleep she was still the loveliest person he had ever seen. She was even more breath-taking, now in fact, than ever. In the golden light he could behold the delicate, patrician, glowing beauty, see her flawless, silvery-white skin glow that would shame cream, ivory and mother-of-pearl. She was illuminated and the light she always seemed to emanate shone brighter than before. But her delicate lids sealed her eyes, and the long, silky, black lashes spread across her flawlessly beautiful cheekbones and skin, creating shadows beneath. Rhaegar grinned as he thought that her lush lips just begged to be kissed.

He resisted the temptation though. Alarissa's hair shimmered black, and gleamed brightly. There was a parting. And it showed on of her ears. Pointed tips. As if Rhaegar cared the slightest whit, he could have snorted. But everyone else made a big fuss about the fact that she was not born human.

So what did Rhaegar care? She was there. She was wiser, not just more surreally beautiful than the rest of them. More calm, more patient. More understanding and much more compassionate.

Rhaegar's heart hardened as someone muttered about what offspring he might have, whether or not they would have a place in the world. He could have spit venom, or flames like a dragon for _that_! He would never forgive that. Any other insult, perhaps, but not that. Not against his wife and whatever offspring he might have.

He sighed angrily and rolled onto his back. So his wife was not a witch, or even human. So what? The enraging, infuriating, loathsome thing was that even the ones who tolerated Muggle-borns seemed to be offended by the idea of non-humans.

But then again, he knew why they were really against his marriage- in fact, they were just using the insults to mask something else.

They truly hated him. Not his wife, _him_.

"Love?" Alarisssa's sleepy voice sounded. Rhaegar smiled and went to kiss her. She accepted the kiss, happily, sighing with contentment. "I'll have to be off soon," he said regretfully.

"I know," she said softly. "But come back to me." He nodded.

"Always," he whispered, before kissing her again.

He slid out of bed.

His love now behind him, what did he have to look forward to today?

In answer? Not much, if any to be frank.

* * *

Their mansion lay in Kataris City. The city of the Atlantean Volsung. The name might sound familiar, but Sigurd Fafnirsbane actually claimed it as his clan name. This clan, however, adored dragons.

And they came from an island long lost.

Soon the anniversary of their founding would be marked.

After the disaster that claimed Atlantis, for centuries, the survivors who escaped had wandered near and far, keeping hidden, in search for a place to call home. They were wizards and witches, but they were different. They lived longer, and their youth lasted long as well. They practiced magic that no ordinary witch or wizard could ever dream to have. And until the Founders of Hogwarts met and formed an alliance with the Atlanteans, none of them could find a place to stay. Now sundered into separate clans, living in various continents, the Atlanteans survived. Their culture and civilisation survived and flourished like before. Kataris lay in Germany, carefully hidden, even to other witches and wizards, unplottable to Muggles and Magical folk alike. And they were not just feared, but highly valued, not the outcasts they had feared to be. They were healers, scholars, philosophers, professors of all kinds, architects… and soldiers.

Their greatest value, some argued, were as fighting forces. No wizard nation has an army. So when the threats of unusually Dark Witches and Wizards arose, sometimes calling themselves Dark Lord or Lady, then they would instantly turn to the clans, bargaining and negotiating until they agreed- the usually did. Aurors only had jurisdiction to do anything within their home boundaries. They could not fight and confront enemies overseas, push them back and make certain to annihilate them. That was the Atlanteans' work.

And Rhaegar's.

Rhaegar touched a mosaic of a woman. Her long billowing black hair, framed grey eyes, lit with blue. There were other portraits- still ones. Frescoes and paintings alike. The ones which compelled him were many.

Rhaegar sighed.

He needed to get to work.

Tapping the side of the mirror he waited. It was a beautiful thing, inlaid with copper, coral and flecks of silver and gold. Rhaegar waited until a face showed.

A woman's face with milk-coloured skin, the exact same shade and just as smooth. Her long straight, black hair gleamed like a river of polished obsidian and she had gleaming matching, slender, black brows. Her features were delicate and exquisite as a snowflake, small, straight nose, high cheekbones, rounded, red lips and liquid black eyes, like onyx, framed with silky black lashes.

She blinked and stared at Rhaegar. "Athelinda." He acknowledged.

His sister bowed her head. It saddened him, and tore his heart at how humbled she was. So different to the proud- often arrogant, girl she had been in her school days. The one whose fire enthralled, and sometimes burnt, others. She was dressed in white still. Other times she wore black.

"How are things going?" He asked.

She stiffened. "Very well." She admitted. "Sigurd is safe and developing quickly. There have been no news of late."

"Huh," Rhaegar said. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"And with you?" She asked.

He shook his head. "The piece of news I gained with Parkinson's death was not enough. The clan will take no further measures, or even an investigation."

His sister shook her head. "They won't even investigate. And what if he rises? He is waiting, right moment to strike. And strike he will."

"Meanwhile they are idle and do nothing." Rhaegar scowled. "Well, I don't blame Harald. He doesn't want to believe it. Not after all he's been through."

"A very human weakness, as your wife will say," Athelinda sounded bitter. "I fell to it."

Rhaegar sighed. He forgave his sister a long time ago. But things have never been the same between them.

"So you say," he muttered. "I have to leave now. We will have to redouble our efforts." Athelinda nodded, before the image swirled and disappeared into nothing.

Rhaegar turned. He had to do his part.

* * *

 _In Britain…._

Katerina drank pumpkin juice. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the boy in front of them.

Andreas tried not to smirk. Normally he was the one who would do this. But his wife seemed to have taken the role.

Not that he blamed her. The last time one of their daughters decided she liked someone…

The breakfast plates were empty with forks and knives laid neatly beside them. They were presently waiting for Winny, the House-elf. But Katerina told Winny to take as much time as she liked. She wanted to intimidate this boy.

She distrusted this boy. Who could blame her?

He tried not to squirm underneath her gaze. She fixed those deep, clear and piercing blue eyes at him, so much like her legendary eldest son's.

Nearby Willamar, her second son, smiled a strained smile. He felt sorry for this boy, he truly did.

His mother was as formidable an opponent as could be. She took on the entire staff of Durmstrang as a teacher, and she won, more than once. She left, of course, when she couldn't stand them any longer. They soon began losing some pupils.

Philomena, the youngest of the siblings twitched nervously. Her mother _was_ intimidating.

It was Willamar that broke the silence. "Father, have you heard from Rhaegar?" He asked his father. Andreas looked up from where he had been hiding his snickers behind a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Not too recently, I'm afraid," he said.

"Well, he's going to try and contact the two of you tonight. You as well, Philomena." His twenty-year-old sister gave a smile. "He's eager to tell you news."

"What news?" His mother asked. Willamar, Philomena, and most of all the poor boyfriend could have breathed in relief. It worked.

"He and Alarissa are trying for a baby." Willamar said. He smiled. "He's hoping for some advice. Athelinda is preparing potions on Alarissa's request. Rhaegar of course, is preparing the rooms."

"Will the child go to Hogwarts?" Philomena asked. "They _are_ living in Kataris, presently."

"But they will soon return." Katerina gave an icy smile, at the boyfriend, named Jason who managed not to squirm. "In fact, I believe we will spend Christmas in Kataris, don't you Andreas?"

"Huh? Yes," her husband quickly amended.

"Good." She smiled a chilling, yet bright smile. "Well, if you would excuse me, I am needed in the kitchen." And with that she left the uneasy four to themselves on the breakfast table.

"Curse him," she muttered. She had instantly liked Alarissa, despite the fact that some people pointed out she wasn't human. But as for this boy, she just wasn't so sure. And now Philomena wanted to move to Kataris, to work as an archivist?

Unfair. Now she would be totally alone, save for her dear House-elf and her beloved husband. And how many times did she get to see her grandson? Not many. As for another grandchild- _ha!_

Now she knew what it was like, to be old, bitter and alone. Not to have the family all around her.

How miserable.

She had never been in anything like this before.

How she longed for the days of the past! Even when they were in school!

How she longed and missed to cuddle, kiss and hold her babies, and what she wouldn't do to do that- just one more time!

What she wouldn't do. And to think that having a grandchild would make her happy- it did, more than anything- but it would be more if she saw the child more often.

 _I'm growing soft in my old age,_ she thought resentfully.

In truth the reason she didn't like Stephen was because she wanted to keep the family unit the way it was. Alarissa she adored. Any grandchildren to worship and dote upon- by all means! But no more sons and daughters-in-law!

No more! She couldn't take any more!

Especially since the last son-in-law took her daughter away, and she nearly never saw her again!

It was his fault! She raged inwardly. How she loathed and cursed him. Damn him to the worst of hell!

And still his shadow wouldn't leave them alone!

Katerina knew it was a futile hope. But she wished nothing more than for _him_ to be dead.

And she hoped it would be soon.

"I don't like him, Winny," she grumbled when she entered the kitchen. "But in actual fact, it's not his fault- it's mine."

Winny, their beloved House-elf, looked at her sympathetically.

She said nothing, however, she knew that it would not help.

Katerina sniffed. She picked up a picture. Inside it showed a merry-looking lad with golden-blonde hair.

"Why are we always betrayed?" She asked bitterly.

Winny couldn't answer that, even if she tried.

* * *

Rhaegar browsed over the old volumes. If anyone saw what he was doing they would instantly demand answers.

Why? Because this type of magic was very bad. So evil was it, that not even the darkest wizards would attempt it- if they even heard of it.

 _Could be anything..._ Yes, well he knew what one was. The problem was finding it. And his sister made the mistake of not bringing one with her.

 _Even living creatures, though, for reasons mentioned, this is not advisable..._

And to think Herpo the Foul was bad enough without this stuff.

In short, nothing new was found. Rhaegar slammed the book shut with disgust.

"Rhaegar?" Someone's sheepish voice sounded and he looked up. It was Harald.

He sighed. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I'm sorry I disagreed with you so publicly yesterday. And I'm sorry I was so vocal about it."

"Forgiven," Rhaegar tried to smile. "It is understandable."

Harald nodded, ashamed. "Still... I don't want to believe what you've said. But even I can't deny there are possibilities. No one had ever gone as far as Grindelwald before."

"No," Rhaegar said. "But now they know that he has gone that far, they know it is possible."

Harald looked green. "Yes."

They stood there in silence for a long while.

"You know... When I was captured... Grindelwald's followers mentioned something about a prophecy."

"A prophecy?" Rhaegar could not be more puzzled. Then it hit him. _Obviously._ "That prophecy?"

"Yes." Harald met his eyes. "They weren't just targeting Muggle-borns and Muggles, you know. They were targeting us. Atlanteans."

"That prophecy is nearly a thousand years old," Rhaegar said sourly. "They might as well give up. It's not going to happen in our lifetimes."

"Are you sure?" Harald asked, one fair eyebrow raised. "It, as you said, has been nearly a thousand years since Camelot fell."

Rhaegar sighed. "Yes. And people are still longing for those days- and to control the new age, as they vowed to do."

"Who do you think will be involved?" Rhaegar shrugged. "That, I do not know. And for their sake, I pray no one finds out," he said darkly and Harald looked grim.

* * *

Rhaegar threw the next book down in disgust, more ill-tempered than before.

Nothing helped him with his mood.

And the threat of another Dark Lord did _not_ make him happy in the least.

He ended up in an armchair, in a secluded corner of the library. This was one of the largest arcane libraries in the world. And yet nothing helped.

As a commander he was supposed to be aware of the Dark Arts. But he already knew them. He knew them all too well.

* * *

 _13 February 1929..._

Rhaegar was in despair. He had lost and he knew it.

He collapsed in a heap. Next to him, the other young boys did the same. They were stick thin, but corded with muscles somehow. Filthy, streaked with dirt and grime, their heads shaved and they bore many scars- most of them pale and half-healed.

The Children of the Endless Night. This was their life.

They had been marching for so long now. Many of them laboured to build this and that, siege engines, or did exercises under the command of the older men and women. If they were unsatisfied with the amount of progress they did, the 'herders' as some called them, or the 'overseers' would lash out with their wands, emitting sharp lightning-like tendrils of various colours and whipping the children. If they were especially peeved, they would use the Cruciatus Curse.

The weakest, the ones who didn't last so long, were killed outright. Their bodies dumped, and only God knew where they lay.

For a young boy, Rhaegar knew he was doomed. The others shared out rations. Opening packets of things like nuts and crispy, fried, slices of tuber or potato. A bottle was opened and water was passed around. They were only allowed one swallow.

It was not enough to live on. And yet they were expected to march. To build. To fight and even to kill.

He was a monster. They made him into one. To kill or be killed was their motto. And at that point, Rhaegar knew there was no hope.

The children were chained. Heavy shackles of magical make bound their dirty ankles just over their bare feet. Their necks were shackled with heavy iron collars too. The chains bound them to each other.

Rhaegar would never see his family again.

Then a sobbing, fluttering noise distracted him from his thoughts.

He looked up, startled. There was a cage nearby. How could he have missed it? At the very end of the cage, huddled a small pile of blankets. Rhaegar squinted. It was dusk. Who was this? This was no animal.

He looked up. The others were so thin and exhausted they did not notice anything. Their overseers were busy, roaring with laughter, spitting jokes and drinking heavy amounts of firewhisky and whatever else.

Slowly, cautiously, after making sure no one was near, Rhaegar sidled himself and made his way towards the cage.

He didn't know why. But he had to. Something pulled him, dragged him, heart and soul from the inside. And for some reason, the first time in months, Rhaegar hoped that this would be something to make his time worthwhile.

He gently, slowly, reached out and touched the bars of the cage. The pile of blankets started. But Rhaegar waited. He made a soothing, shushing noise, like the one he used to make to his sister when she was upset or angry.

After a while, he managed to calm him, or her, down. "Please." He whispered. "I promise I will not hurt you."

The pile stood very still. "That's what _they_ said." Rhaegar was shocked. This was the most melodious, clear voice he had ever heard. But it was the voice of a young girl. How was it possible?

"Why are you in here, in a cage?" Rhaegar asked gently, but he could not keep the breathless tone from his voice. His heart was pounding. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" The voice said bitterly, heartbreak tearing her voice- and his own insides. His heart squirmed. To think they could not commit more evil. "I'm not one of you. None of your kind have ever concerned yourselves with us. None of you have ever treated us with kindness. They chained me, and hurt me, and forced me to go so low. Then they locked me up. Because your people allowed it. Why should you be any different?"

"I was taken from my family too," he whispered. He looked desperately at the bundle, entranced, utterly captivated by that _voice_. The most beautiful, melodious voice, it soothed and stroked him. It made him feel _alive_ like he hadn't been in months and yet, he was calm. Spring waters. Crystal or glass bells. Silk. It made him think of things that he forgot existed, because for some time now, it felt like an eternity, he knew only evil and hideousness.

"I hate them." He whispered. "And I would do anything not to be like them, even if they want me to... If it's not too late," he whispered, trying to stem his own grief. "Even if you aren't like me." He said.

And yet... He felt an inexorable pull towards her, unexplained and powerful. Whoever this was... Destiny had charted out a path for him, he just knew it.

"My name is Rhaegar," He said softly.

She stirred underneath the blankets. She was silent for a long while. And in a voice so soft, so smooth, and gentle he could barely hear it, but made his heart leap when he did, he heard her say, "Alarissa."

And her eyes peeked from beneath the blankets. And Rhaegar knew heart and soul had already been captured- not by his enslavers- despite them trying- but by someone and something else, more powerful than they, and yet, he was already free.

* * *

Startled, Rhaegar opened his eyes.

Blinking, he outrageously wondered how he could have ever fallen asleep.

He should get going. Picking up his cloak, it was time to leave.

Nothing has ever been the same. His life would never be the blissful innocence he once envisioned it to be- though he did not know it as that at the time.

Yet he wouldn't have traded his experiences for the world.

Rhaegar made his way back home. Alarissa was in the gardens. Her back was to him, and he could see the wings that grew out of her back. They appeared and disappeared at will. Similar to butterfly wings, they were silky to the touch, but as near-transparent as gauze or gossamer. The colours were rich and vibrant- like jewels.

He sighed. "Love," he called out. Alarissa turned to him. "I didn't hear you coming," she said, her eyes wide. He smiled. "It's alright. I simply... wanted to be with you."

She smiled and held her hand out to him.

 _Let it all go away,_ Rhaegar thought. He didn't want Dark Magic or practitioners of that kind to come running into their lives again. _Let it all be over._

And yet... he had no idea what he was in for.

* * *

 ** _As I said, you have no need to read the first part. But things you should know, Rhaegar was a child-soldier. He was kidnapped. Alarissa was captured as well. But not for purposes like his. She was meant for entertainment- or worse. As for other mysteries as to what Harald was talking about... That will have to wait until later. Andreas and Katerina are the parents. Rhaegar was born first, Willamar after him, and Athelinda after both of them. After a gap of a few years, the youngest, Philomena was born. They are Atlantean in descent, they arrived in Britain, long before the Normans, Vikings and even the Saxons did, hence the Celtic family name. Katerina was a teacher at Durmstrang._**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Warning: Mild child-abuse- torture flashback! Not too heavy I promise! We'll also dive into Atlantean culture and magic rituals.**_

* * *

Memories

" _ **You invoke a new future when you envision your past in the light of your present."**_

 _ **Eric Micha'el Leventhal**_

* * *

The party was a lavish event- but it foreshadowed the next important ceremony that would take place the next day.

At the gathering, Andreas and Katerina arrived with Philomena in tow, and Willamar escorting them.

Athelinda and Sigurd were to meet them later on.

Rhaegar and Alarissa were already there.

Athelinda admitted she had never met Alarissa. Philomena beamed and said she had no idea what she was in for then.

Of course it was a shock when she saw an impossibly beautiful woman, so breath-taking that the very air seemed to disappear and his eyes could not hold the fullness of her beauty. She seemed to glow, her skin paler and brighter than the stars. Luminous black hair darker than polished jet, so dark the mere colour was shiny, gently waving fell to her waist like a shining dark waterfall. The impossible, devastating beauty of her face was accentuated by the serene, majestic but compassionate expression on her face. Her eyes glowed framed by long black lashes, a rich chocolate and molten gold.

"That's Alarissa?" Athelinda's voice came out as being rather… unimpressive.

She instantly felt like a troll next to this woman.

"Oh, come now, sister." Philomena said cheerfully. "She's lovely, in and out."

Athelinda had not been there for the wedding.

She swallowed. Philomena dragged her to meet their sister-in-law, whose inexplicably lovely face lit up when she saw Philomena.

"Philomena," she murmured. She went over and greeted the young woman by way of a kiss. Philomena inhaled her fragrance. Beautiful, in every way.

When they withdrew, Philomena, gestured to her elder sister. "This is-"

"Athelinda." Alarissa murmured. "Yes, I've deduced."

Athelinda tried not to squirm, or be too spellbound by the gaze of those eyes. Wait, how did her eyes get from one colour to another so fast?

Athelinda was no fool. She knew Alarissa was not human.

Alarissa held out her arms. "You are my husband's sister. And he loves you, more than you know."

Athelinda smiled sadly with a tinge of bitterness. _More than I deserve,_ she said, before returning the embrace.

"Everyone needs to be loved," Alarissa whispered in her ear. "It's what keeps us healthy and sane."

Athelinda nodded, but could not meet her eyes. Alarissa gently touched her chin and brought her head up. She smiled at the witch.

"Don't underestimate your own value, just because you have overestimated it once," she said. And in her eyes Athelinda saw mercy, compassion and understanding. It was enough to make her weep.

Next to her hiding behind her, was a small boy. His eyes were silvery-green. One pupil was tiny and round. The other _moved_. It was long and it slithered and twitched, like a snake.

"And this is Sigurd," Alarissa said, withdrawing her delicate hand, and turning her attentions to the young boy, whose eyes were wide as platters. Somehow she was not at all surprised by what she saw. Rhaegar must have warned her- obviously.

Sigurd's eyes studied her. His snake-pupil, froze.

Alarissa bent down. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, I have always known I would someday meet Rhaegar's nephew."

"You know?" The small boy cocked his head, adorably.

Alarissa smiled. _"Knew,"_ his mother corrected. "And no, you should not ask things like that outright, it's not polite."

But Alarissa shrugged it off.

"I've always had the feeling," she reached out with her hand. Inside it was a small bud, orange-coloured. It suddenly came to life in her hand and bloomed. Inside it was a sweet- a toffee. Sigurd's eyes brightened with delight.

Alarissa smiled, and a brighter smile never graced anyone's eyes. She laughed and it was the same way. Everyone smiled without meaning to, and some sighed with happiness, as they felt as if the whole room was bathed in light. She was truly beautiful, Athelinda thought. In every way.

"Thank-ooo," Sigurd lisped. She smiled at her nephew.

The boy toddled away.

* * *

"Welcome all!" Someone called out.

He spoke in the old Atlantean language. They instantly fell silent and turned to him.

An impressive man in rich black robes, made of velvet, embroidered with black pearls, black diamonds and crystals, he was tall and thin.

His eyes gleamed.

"On the morrow, when the sun rises, we celebrate the dawning of this Age! An Age in which our lives and destinies were regained, after being lost, swallowed by fire and water. We regained our destiny, we regained our lives, and we regained our strength! So that we may never lose it, we celebrate, and we commemorate what we have lost, and what we can rebuild to be much more!"

"When it comes," The audience murmured in unison. The man nodded.

He gestured. A pretty, dainty girl with creamy skin, curly corn-coloured hair cut short and slender, petite figure came forth. She bore an engraved silver cup filled with wine. Her hazel eyes gleamed mischievously. The man took the cup and held it.

"To all, to our future generations. May they be stronger and wiser than we are!"

"To all," the echoed. They downed their goblets. Several dancers came up.

A pair of female twins wore costumes made entirely of sugar-pink, sea-green and sky-blue ribbons came forwards.

The lights dimmed. All save for a single light above them, lit by magic. A flameless lantern. An Atlantean invention.

They slowly raised an arm, each. The twin on the left, stretched her right arm high. The twin on the right, did the same on her right arm.

The instruments strummed. The drums started beating. More instruments joined them. And soon the women started to dance, but the light soon left them to go behind, and they turned to their sides, so that their profiles were visible. Opening their mouths they added their voices to the music. But it was barely heard.

Not that they wanted everyone to pay attention to what they were singing. But soon coloured mist poured out of the twins' mouths and started to cloud together and swirl. An image formed itself from the steam. Atlantis.

The twins thumped a foot each. They started to dance and sing. Atlantis. The thriving city. A great civilisation- the only civilisation to comprise entirely of witches and wizards. The greatest library on arcane works in the ancient world, long before people knew how to write. Their people- more than ordinary human, due to the magic that ran in their blood.

Their architecture, arts, magic, even their cuisine was unparalleled. And then it changed. Fire destroyed most of Atlantis, before the waters rose, and swallowed it. But one person foresaw this oncoming destruction. She tried to warn the others, but they didn't listen. They didn't want to listen.

So she warned those who would listen. She warned and trained them to carry out their legacy, stole treasures that would otherwise be lost. She prepared them for a long, hard road ahead.

And among them were children. To carry out their legacy. Their future. Their hopes and dreams. Until something such as this can spring forth again.

Until such a time, they would remain hidden in the shadows, fearing persecution and shunning.

And so they left. While Atlantis was destroyed, they wept for their lost home, and they began their centuries of exile.

Centuries later, they were found. Four Teachers. Four of the Greatest Wizards and Witches in history. They formed an alliance, and two children were raised by both cultures- A boy and a girl. The boy was named Merlin. The girl was Igraine.

And from them, they eventually ushered in a new era- heralded by Merlin and Igraine's children, particularly her son, Arthur. The legendary Half-blood king, leader of both Muggles and Wizards alike. They stopped burning witches and wizards. And for a long time, there was a golden age. An era of peace and plenty, where the greatest, bravest and most valiant made right any wrongs. Where no crime went unpunished. Where all had plenty to feast on. Where great achievements were made. And it ended all too soon.

And soon, it will come again.

 _The prophecy,_ Rhaegar thought. _The prophecy that shadowed our lives. The one they were all waiting for._

Grindelwald. And possibly him. His successor.

And Rhaegar could do nothing more it seemed. Not without something to hang onto.

Athelinda swallowed some wine. Dressed in black and white silk and white French lace, she was beautiful- as always. Her delicate, exquisite face however, was troubled.

Sigurd had wandered off. She kept her eyes on him at all times.

He was with his uncle. Rhaegar had taken a shine to the boy, and amazingly Sigurd felt the same way. The absence of a father in his life, may have affected that.

Smoothing her dress-robes down, Athelinda trusted Rhaegar with her precious, beloved son, but could not help but feel uneasy.

 _I feel as if something is about to happen,_ she thought.

She shook herself. She shouldn't bring bad luck onto all their heads.

She took a sip of the wine. Philomena was there, dressed in green embroidered with shimmering crystals and plump yellow buds. She shook her head.

 _Oh, little sister,_ she thought. _I do so worry about you. I only hope you won't make my mistakes._

And she worried about her son too.

Athelinda turned away, so no one would see the fear in her eyes.

She'd had bad dreams of late. And so did her brother.

* * *

 _1_ _st_ _April 1929…_

Rhaegar could not fathom such agony. But he gritted his teeth, knowing that if he cried out, or fainted, they would do much, much worse to him.

And then he would never set her free. And he would never be free himself.

And so they cast the torture curse again, and again. Until the young boy lay exhausted upon the soot-streaked floor.

"Enjoyed it?" The speaker was a thin man, with a sneering face. When Rhaegar didn't answer, he kicked as hard as he could against his form. The boy was thin, he was shirtless, and kicking hard on his protruding ribs by far, was not healthy.

"Answer me, brat!" He howled. "Answer me or you'll get it again!" He didn't even wait, before he pointed his wand and screamed, _"Crucio!"_

Rhaegar could only wait until it was over.

When it was done, his tormentor, tipped a bucket of soiled water, splashing the contents all over them. Rhaegar could barely breathe from the water and the stench. That stuff was only used to water fields.

He kicked the boy again. He grabbed his head and slammed it against the ground.

"Lock him here!" The man ordered two other guards. "Take him out tomorrow. Make him squeal, and see if he behaves after this. No dinner tonight! No breakfast either!"

Tomorrow would be the same. The only thing that made it bearable, no, worthwhile, was seeing her again. His heart leapt and danced with joy. Alarissa.

Soon they would be free.

He just had to wait. And he held a strange metal instrument in his hand, which he twined again and again.

His key to her- and his- freedom.

No matter if they killed him. No matter if they tortured him again. No matter if they starved him.

They would be free.

* * *

Rhaegar turned to his wife. She touched his arm concerned.

"Come," he whispered. He just wanted to be alone with her.

In the garden, beneath the tree, they kissed. In the light of the moon. It might sound soppy, but the other was all they had.

At least, that was what Rhaegar felt.

Katerina watched them from a nearby portico. They were hoping for a baby. She hoped with all her heart they would have one.

They were truly in love and happy.

The only one of her children. And she was glad for them.

She remembered. Of course she did.

The merry, golden-haired boy. She knew who he was. She knew him once.

At least she thought he did. Now he rotted in Nurmengard.

He once smiled at her. That was so long ago.

He made her blush and laugh. But she did not really love him.

She was thankful, more than anything, for Andreas.

Katerina turned away. Tomorrow marked the start of a future.

A brighter one, she was certain.

* * *

Nearby someone sorted tarot cards.

Hidden beneath her hood, she took no part in the celebrations.

The Vǫlva, some called her. The Old Norse word, for a female seer.

Shuffling the cards, the woman, as ancient a being as could be, even older than Nicolas Flamel and his wife, waited.

She waited until the time come.

She would play her cards right.

She placed them in a pile, face-down. Then she started picking them at random.

An old, dusty volume. A tower with lightning striking one side of it. Death. A man on a journey. And more. Much more.

She knew what they meant. She had seen it.

The Vǫlva sighed as she shuffled the cards.

She needed to get this right. In case it all went wrong. After so many centuries she could not make all the sacrifices be in vain.

* * *

The next day, they dressed in white ceremonial robes- but simple- nothing elaborate.

They were void of make-up, ornaments and other things. They had fasted, drinking nothing but a barley drink flavoured with mint.

They had prayed.

The family made their way to the grove over the seven hills.

It was a long journey and Sigurd started to whine.

The ceremony of remembrance would start at sundown. But before that there were traditions and rituals they had to get through.

"Mum-mum." Sigurd said. Athelinda looked down at her son.

"Mum-mum, where we goin'?"

"Where _are_ …"

"Where _are_ we going?" Sigurd's voice was much more measured and careful now. Athelinda had slowly been weaning him out of baby speech.

"To the grove, to prepare ourselves for the ceremony?"

"Ce-re-mo-ny?" Sigurd asked hesitantly.

Athelinda prepared to tell him what it meant, while the others hurried along. Her mother offered to carry Sigurd, but Athelinda shook her head. It would not do for her son, to arrive to such a monumental event, carried in anyone's arms. Sigurd himself was eager to walk and prove to everyone that he could walk the distance.

Rhaegar was the only one dressed in black. Everyone was in thin white cloth. He was in his uniform- battle robes and slight body-armour. He looked around him warily, as he helped everyone up the final hill.

There was a shady grove, surrounded by willow trees. Several hooded acolytes stood there, robed in black, handing them flasks. They gratefully accepted the refreshing barley-and-mint drink, along with a strange green potion.

"We welcome you," they said in a monotone. They spoke in Old Atlantean. The language of their civilisation, before its downfall.

Several people were already there, dancing and singing. Tambourines were shaken, and girls had flower-wreaths in their hair, and were barefooted, dressed in white cloth.

They were singing and strumming their instruments- mostly harps and lutes. They were singing old paeans, and every note was imbued with magic. Soon the magic would cloud everyone's minds. The green potion they drank merely amplified their inner-eye's abilities.

The music started to cloud their visions, and everything started to whirl. It wasn't dizzying, though.

Everyone was dancing. The sounds of laughing started to ring and echo in everyone's ears.

This was the basis of Muggle attempts at shamanism. Muggles have tried to replicate such rituals- in Ancient Greece, Rome, Mesoamerica, central Asia and even Viking Scandinavia- but with limited success- if any. They did not understand such power. They used feeble mundane things, which cast hallucinations, not visions, for their rites. Therefore they never really succeeded in seeing the future, or gaining powers, anything like that.

But the Atlanteans certainly succeeded.

As his vision swirled, it turned dark blue, the same colour as rare blue obsidian, but it swirled, as if he were in a funnel cloud, dotted with swirling stars.

Rhaegar turned.

No he should not hold back.

There were people. People whispering. He heard their voices. But they sounded strange, like they were in the back of his head, although he certainly saw them.

Then everything swirled faster than before.

Faster and faster, did everything swirl. Faster, much faster to comprehend.

He saw more than stars. The blue dissolved into black. The stars grew fewer but were still plentiful. The wind felt cold against his skin, and he realised he was standing somewhere during the night. A golden full moon loomed ahead. The grass seemed to shiver beneath him, with the promise of power.

There were people. A group of people- knights, he saw. Dressed in armour, with a dragon emblem- a red one, stamped on their cuirasses.

They were holding torches. Others had wands. They were wizards and Muggles combined.

Someone led them- no more than one.

A tall, strong, younger man with a gold crown and an extremely handsome face. An extremely beautiful young woman, clutching his arm. The man- a king- held a sword that looked like it was made entirely of moonlight.

And in front of them all, was an older man that radiated power and mystery. His beard was long, and his eyes were black and hooded. He had a staff.

Merlin. King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and Merlin.

"At the time of the turning of the millennia," Merlin's voice echoed. "Will the birth of a new Age arise, the Old Age must die. But the new one will live."

"At the turning of the millennia. Six there will be. Three who bear the High King's blood, but all will forge their own fates. Until then, disappear, we must."

Rhaegar felt everything swirl around him, and suddenly it was dusk again, Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere and the Knights of the Round Table, had vanished.

He was back in the grove.

"Rhaegar," his wife's soft, clear voice soothed him and cleared his head, which he was extremely grateful. She touched his arm.

"What did you see?"

Rhaegar swallowed. "The making of the prophecy."

* * *

Everything was swimming around Athelinda. She couldn't even comprehend whether she liked it or not.

She was in a midnight-blue funnel, swirling around her, and dotted with stars. As if they were gas or simply the night sky. She heard voices, whispering, beckoning her.

But she was too afraid.

She saw someone.

Someone walking behind her. A tall, young man. Unbelievably handsome, with a lean, handsomely-chiselled face, and fine-carved bones. His hair was a lustrous black, like polished obsidian, and his features were better than if they had been carved from marble. He was also really pale- like milk.

She almost screamed. She knew who this was.

But then he looked up and his eyes were what struck her. They were silvery-green, not the black she expected. The left pupil was round and small. The other, was long, thin and curling- snake.

He was tall. He was powerful. And he had a wand in one hand, and a sword in the other. Suddenly the background vanished. And behind him stood a great fleet of ships, an army numbering countless soldiers, all dressed in battle-robes and armour. Ready for war. Ready to fight for freedom and life.

Tears welled in her eyes. Oh, her sweet son.

Sigurd. Her son.

The snake curled in his eye, and formed a perfect circle. An ouroboros.

And the storm clouds gathered, and darkened the sky. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and everything went dark. The only thing that illuminated the whole scene, was the silver-green of Sigurd's eyes. Until it too, vanished with the darkness, with a warning or a reminder in their midst, which his mother saw, but did not entirely understand.

Athelinda was jolted into reality.

* * *

Someone hooded, stepped forwards. Her wand was longer than most and draped with things like shells and powerful symbols carved upon it.

The Vǫlva had arrived.

She stretched her hands out. "Here, tonight, we celebrate- and we remember, the days that destroyed us- and the days that marked our rebirth. Like the phoenix that sprung from the ashes, so too, shall we rise again!"

"Onwards to eternity." Everyone intoned.

The tip of her wand lit with silver light. She touched it in front of the largest- and oldest willow tree. The lines of the bark glowed with silver light, as it the tree had a light-source within. It spread, and soon reached the tips of the branches, whereupon it burst forth, and the leaves themselves were illuminated. A silver-white glow fell upon them, and people rejoiced.

"Let the celebrations, begin!" The Vǫlva ordered.

They started singing, clapping, dancing and playing their instruments. Tonight ecstasy would take their minds elsewhere.

But not Rhaegar. He pulled his wife aside to a private corner and they kissed.

* * *

 _In Albania…_

People were laughing. Trying out the new Swiftstick Racing Broom, testing its limits.

But nearby, something or someone, was on the move.

In a forest clearing, far from the prying eyes of wizards and Muggles alike, several hooded figures wearing masks, stood on guard.

The moon was full.

Another figure came through. They stood straighter, eager to hear any news of information.

The figure ignored them, and went to the edge of the clearing. A long snake slithered nearby. It was green. And its manner was more sinister than that of a snake's.

"My lord," the cloaked figure whispered, kneeling.

"We have found the information you seek, my lord. The splinter-groups, are however, in disarray. And the news of the prophecy…. Not so good, my lord."

There was a frightening silence. The kneeling figure twitched.

"Parkinson has been killed." The kneeling figure said. "The Volsung clan dealt with him- or rather- the General and Commander Rhaegar Artrigos."

The standing figure twitched, and the atmosphere seemed to drop terrifyingly.

"Tell me," the voice was soft, like a snake slithering towards its prey. "Does the Commander suspect what we might be doing?"

"No, my lord." The kneeling man stammered. "Surely not. Parkinson died before he could be questioned."

The snake slithered, and rose its head, high up, next to the standing man. The man's back was to the kneeling figure. The snake curled closer to him.

"And the descendants?" The standing man hissed. The kneeling man swallowed.

"We have candidates," he said hesitantly. "They live near the Austrian-Swiss border."

"Good," the standing figure said. "Send a force, dispatch them to bring them to us- alive, and unspoiled. Unless they resist."

"Yes, my lord." The servant bowed his head. "As you wish." He rose and beckoned to several others. They came forwards, and filed together, following him out of the clearing.

Rhaegar had retired early with Alarissa. He needed it.

She curled close by his side. He took comfort in that. The moonlight fell and her beauty was illuminated in a silver glow.

But he no could not sleep.

The two of them, spent and exhausted, had fallen asleep, but dreams plagued Rhaegar's mind. And he could not be rid of them.

His dreams were not cohesive. Therefore, he had nothing to grasp their meanings upon. It was the potions. Curse them.

Rhaegar did see something. He heard a baby crying that night. He had even sworn he had seen an image of a baby, protected by stars, curled up, as if it were not yet born, in a shell of light.

He blinked.

He did not know what to make of that.

But he did know many things.

Rhaegar's mind wandered to long ago.

* * *

 _1949…._

"So you are to be married," The Volva said amused. "Do you know the risks?"

He bowed his head. "Very well. I give you my blessing." She replied, touching him on his head.

She turned away.

"She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she mused. "The loveliest creature in the world, surely."

Rhaegar chuckled. "She always was to me."

"But you worry about the future," she said. "Which is why you came to see me."

Rhaegar was silent. "Yes." He swallowed. "A few years ago… My sister… As you can remember…"

"She left," the Vǫlva said. "Yes, I remember."

Rhaegar swallowed. "You fear for her," she said. "Do not worry. All will be well, before long. Best look to your bride, and the future generations. Soon, you will start a new family."

Rhaegar nodded. "As for your sister…" the Vǫlva said musingly. "Keep your faith. She will return to you." He nodded.

"But be warned, she will come back with surprises."

He had always thought it meant the baby. Now he wondered if there was something more.

As he lay there, Alarissa touched his arm.

"Can't sleep?" She asked. He smiled.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she said. She pulled herself so she rested on her elbows.

He sighed.

"Talk to me," she urged.

"What can I say?" He asked. "I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. What that is, I don't yet know. And I'm not sure whether I should feel eager about it, either."

"You may not, after all you don't even know what it is," she acknowledged. "But it does not mean you cannot prepare for anything."

He sighed. "I've been through worse, why am I so put off… by this?"

Alarissa fell silent for a while. Her eyes glowed brighter than any gem, a rich, deep and clear, violet colour, now.

"There is nothing we may not survive," Alarissa said. "Providing we know what to do in the situation."

She was too lovely for words, Rhaegar thought. But more importantly, her presence was a greater blessing than he could imagine.

* * *

 _February 1929…_

"My people are the Fey," she said. "At least that's what some call us. Our women are called many things- Wylies or Veela- that's the most common term."

She accepted the bowl of soup Rhaegar managed to steal. He had not enough nourishment. None of them had. It was their overseers' way of weeding out the weak from the strong.

She took a sip. Rhaegar could not help but gawk, and then redden, at the sight of her mouth touching the bowl. Her lips were so lush and soft. She gave him the bowl, handing it through the bars of her cage.

It was vegetable soup. Sour, pickled vegetables, and nearly cold, but they had little else. They dared not light a fire to heat it. And they did not have sufficient knowledge for such magic, anyway.

"Do you miss your home?" Rhaegar said softly. "Does it matter?" She asked. "I will never see it again."

"I can bring you home," Rhaegar said. His eyes burnt with a fire deep within. She stared at him.

"Impossible." She brandished her chains. They looked small, but they were made of iron. He could see marks there. Angry red ones. He looked up at her, alarmed.

"Iron hurts us," she explained. "They knew that even the weakest link would be enough to hold me. I cannot break through it."

Rhaegar paused.

"What if I can?" He asked. She sighed. "But you said they do not allow you to hold any weapons unless they want you to fight."

"Yes," he said. "But I've been picking things- foraging things out in the battlefield, when I had to." He grimaced. "Scavenging is not the best thing but sometimes, we have no choice."

"And what did you find?" She asked breathlessly. "Iron. Steel. Wands." He held out one. I disarmed an opponent before he could get me. I stole his wand. I managed to hide it from them."

Her eyes widened. "You must keep silent and be very wary," he warned. "Even the slightest thing can give it away."

Her eyes widened. And she nodded.

"There are more things I must plan." He said. "A good thing they taught me to build. But I can't leave everyone to their fates. I fear that if we escape, they might be punished for it."

She nodded seriously.

"Then listen carefully," she said. "I know a spell. It puts them to sleep. You don't need a wand to do it. You just have to practice. You can blame it on the junior officers and overseers." He nodded.

"It will take some time, everything," he said. "But we can wait. Just… Don't die, Rhaegar. Please," she whispered.

He nodded and for the first time in a long time, smiled.

He touched her hand through the bars of the cage. And Alarissa smiled. Rhaegar had never seen anything so brilliant in her life. Her folded wings quivered behind her.

He understood. And he knew.

He was going to get them free. Come what may, he would set them free.

* * *

 ** _Hopefully that was mild. As I heard in a documentary, and culture that practices shamanism is 'bound to put themselves in an altered state', one way or another. What if wizards did that too, a long time ago? A Vǫlva_** _ **is the Old Norse word for a female seer. It means 'wand-carrier'. Things are about to get intense. So far, it's only been flashbacks. I added some information about the Veela, because we know so little about them in Harry Potter's world. But I thought there had to be males- I mean, come on! And why were there only male centaurs mentioned when in mythology there were even female centaurs- Kentaurides? But the only Veela we saw were the ones at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, Fleur, Gabrielle and her mother. We really don't know anything much about them. What if humans aren't the only civilisation in the world?**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

 _ **Forgive me, if I take decide to delve into Grindelwald's backstory without you wanting me to. I will also feature Nicolas Flamel and his wife later on. In fact, there might be more revelations about this family than you believe.**_

 _ **P.S: As I said, if you haven't read**_ **Lady of Serpents** _ **, the first part of the**_ **Dragon's Child** _ **series, it's alright!**_

* * *

A New Conflict

" _ **Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead."**_

 _ **Benjamin Franklin**_

* * *

Katerina, wife of Andreas and mother to Rhaegar, Willamar, Athelinda and Philomena, grandmother to Sigurd- and hopefully another- stared out at the window.

It had been a long time since she had seen Durmstrang.

How many years ago was it?

Katerina was not young, though because of Atlantean physicality, she retained her youth. She was born on 16th April 1882- one year after Dumbledore, and the same year as Gellert Grindelwald.

She was a very beautiful lady, as some people liked to say. In fact, Rhaegar took after the best of her and his father.

The reflection barely showed any lines. She was fair, almost pale, with fine clear-cut, perfectly-straight features, like those of a cameo. Her eyes were a clear, deep, icy blue and her hair was deep black, curling slightly at the ends. Katerina's patrician features were the most apparent in her eldest son and daughter.

She had had her share of admirers in Durmstrang. And friends. One of which was a young, merry-faced golden-haired boy, with eyes twinkling with mischief.

Grindelwald. Only in her mind, and only now could she speak that name. Gellert Grindelwald.

Katerina's fingers twirled around her, ebony wand as she remembered.

* * *

 _Stockholm, 1893…_

" _Hey Katerina!" One of the students yelled at her. She turned her head. "Going to buy a new wand?"_

 _She nodded. "Best in Stockholm." She replied to her friend's comment. She recognized her as being someone from her native Hungary- though Katerina's father was originally from Greece and Russia. He had wanted her to go to Durmstrang. Most Atlantean parents were becoming slightly more open to the idea of their children going to schools, such as Durmstrang- large ones with lots of students._

 _But she was currently visiting an aunt in Sweden. Better to buy her wand here._

 _She whispered a few words to her mother. Her mother frowned, but nodded. Katerina happily scampered off._

 _Katerina's eleventh birthday was on that very day. Eager and excited, she knew, soon she would be a student herself. Soon she would meet many, many wizards and witches her age._

 _She stood gaping at the wand-store. This was a branch of Mykew Gregorovitch's. She nearly squealed in excitement._

 _She didn't noticed the golden-haired boy watching her nearby._

 _After buying her wand, Katerina gleefully held it aloft. She was now a witch- an official one._

" _Hey you!"_

 _She turned. The speaker was a menacing boy, slightly taller and older than she was._

" _What do you want?" She asked._

" _You have a new wand?" His eyes gleamed evilly. She wanted to break a run, but she stared coldly and stood her ground._

" _So what?" She asked petulantly._

 _He smirked. "You're eleven. You haven't even been in school. What do you need a wand for? Give it here."_

 _He made to snatch the wand, but Katerina drew back and somehow, a jet of golden sparks shot at the end of the wand and landed on the boy's hand. He yelled. It stung._

" _Why you little- I'll get you!" He roared._

 _And that was when a loose brick fell on top of him, hitting him square on the head._

 _He staggered and fell face-down on the ground. Katerina kicked him- a mistake as it turned out, as he grabbed her leg and dragged her towards him. She screamed._

 _Just then a boy with golden-blond hair ran forwards brandishing his own wand- which looked brand-new. A jet of sparks flew from the end of his wand and landed on the assaulter's hand. He jerked back, involuntarily._

 _The newcomer grabbed Katerina's arm, and the two ran off. Katerina decided that now was not the time to waste questions with._

 _Finally the two made it to a secluded alleyway. The young boy turned to Katerina._

" _Are you alright?" He asked her. Katerina nodded, too shaken to comprehend what had happened._

 _She swallowed. "What-what…" She shook her head. "How did you know I was in trouble?" She wanted to thank him, but she wanted to know first._

" _I saw you leaving the wand shop," he explained. "And entering. I noticed that boy- I don't like him either."_

" _Th-thank you." "Don't mention it," he smiled. "What's your name?"_

" _Katerina," she replied. "Katerina Alexios."_

" _Gellert Grindelwald." He extended his hand out to her. She shook it hesitantly._

 _And that was the beginning. Whether it was the beginning of a life filled with much turmoil, or the beginning of the end, she did not know._

* * *

Katerina snapped back to reality from her memories. She looked at the cup of steaming-hot tea in her hands. Sipping it, she tried to steer her mind elsewhere.

But was it any wonder that her daughter…

She could not think because of her guilt and anguish. Was it her fault? _Was it?_

Would she ever find out?

* * *

"I think this is the wrong one." Rhaegar scowled.

"Your sister says-" his wife began. He shook his head. "Honestly? Why do you listen to her so much now?" He teased. She stifled a smile.

"Well, this is not about you." She said.

"No, it's about what's best for my child," he exclaimed. They stood in the nursery addressing the various pieces of furniture.

Alarissa's family had given her numerous gifts. Honestly however, they would give her many more when the baby was born.

"I think-" Alarissa began before someone knocked on the door.

Rhaegar opened it with a wave. "What is it?"

"Forgive me sir," the messenger gasped. He handed a scroll. "There's been attack."

They froze. "What?!" Rhaegar shouted.

"A town in Switzerland, near the Austrian border," the messenger gasped. Rhaegar shot an incredulous look at his wife.

"Go," she said. "I'll handle this. Go!"

There was no time to waste.

Rhaegar charged out of the room, dressed in battle gear.

"Which town?" He demanded. "The settlement of Mystikawald." The messenger replied. "The commanders demand your presence."

Rhaegar disapparated outside his home.

* * *

It was ravaged. Totally ransacked.

Planks and beams of burnt and burning wood lay strewn across the ground. Even the grass was burnt to ash, and the smell of smoke filled their nostrils.

The houses had utterly been burnt. However, there were a few dead bodies. Only a few.

The rest… Where had they all gone?

Rhaegar looked around. This was eerily similar. Too similar to scenes in his past.

He accidentally stepped on something and looked down. There was a picture-frame. He bent and picked it up, letting the ash and dirt fall.

It was an individual photograph.

There was a young man, standing dressed in garb that was similar to what he would have seen in Kataris.

The man was brown-haired and he was laughing, grinning up at Rhaegar. However, what captured Rhaegar's interest was the crest behind him.

A dragon crest- a red one. The image was a dragon, its wing outstretched, its mouth wide open, roaring at the skies, about to take flight.

And again, that old name, echoed and reverberated within his mind.

Pendragon.

King's Arthur's family. His dedicated followers and descendants.

He had seen that mark. Back in the grove during his induced vision of the past.

A red dragon, wings outstretched, roaring at the skies on the breast-plates of knights.

Why would this be here? He looked up.

There were the remains of an exquisitely pretty chalet. Ruined, destroyed. While the others stood on lookout, and some searched for survivors, Rhaegar, carefully mounted the steps and stepped inside.

It was burnt and ransacked, as he noticed. Drawers had been pulled out, chests emptied, some of their contents strewn across the soot-covered carpet. Cabinets and cupboards had been torn open.

Yet there were plenty of things lying randomly around. Carelessly tipped, dumped, and scattered across the place. Yet several chunks were missing. They did not take furniture, or valuable ornaments, such as jewels. Whoever did this- and there must have been many- had been searching. For something.

Rhaegar picked up the picture. He walked to a dresser and compared it to the other photographs there.

The brown-haired man, with the dragon-crest. The same brown-haired man, and several others, that looked to be his family. The dragon crest was displayed prominently and proudly in many of the portraits.

They were searching for the Pendragons.

* * *

" _Where are they?" Hissed the man under the hood._

 _A hint of dark, maybe black, hair showed. Possibly pale skin, but no one could be sure._

" _Where are the descendants?"_

 _When the kneeling brown-haired man, whose hands were bound by ropes, didn't answer, the hooded figure screamed, "Crucio!"_

 _The man writhed in agony. His face was swollen, by bruising and blood. Blood streaked his clothes. Nearby a woman screamed._

"Bitte!" _She screamed, sobbing._ "Bitte!" _She nearly collapsed on a heap on the floor, restrained also by ropes, and by the hands of several masked figures._

" _I do not tolerate stubbornness," the hooded figure said softly, suddenly and unpredictably calm and smooth._

" _You will learn. You will find out. Very, very soon."_

* * *

Alarissa gasped as she jolted awake.

"The family is being threatened," she whispered. "Their family."

"The Pendragon line." Startled, Alarissa gazed wide-eyed into the face of her husband. He looked grim and worn. Instantly she jumped out of bed and rushed out to embrace him.

"Rhaegar," she whispered, nearly sobbing in relief. "Rhaegar."

Rhaegar's arms closed around her, and he breathed in the scent of her hair. She was safe. And alive in his arms. That was what mattered.

"You're back."

He sighed. "Yes," he breathed. "And with you."

 _Where I belong. Not in the battlefield. Not anymore._

* * *

 _May 1929…_

Rhaegar smelt the smoke and the burning wood, even from a long distance off.

He stood there with a dagger held to the throat of a woman.

She was a middle-aged woman. Dirty-blonde hair lay in clumps around her face. Her eyes were blue. And they looked at him with _pity_.

"Finish her." His superior ordered. "Finish her off."

"You monster," the woman whispered. "You think to turn children into monsters like yourself. You think you make them brave? You only take away what humanity they have left. What good is in them."

"Finish her off, boy!" He shouted. "Finish her, or I will kill ten-to-twenty of you!"

Rhaegar's eyes never once left the woman. And the woman looked at him with pity and sorrow, before baring her throat…

And allowing him to plunge the dagger into it.

And no one but Rhaegar noticed the tears falling from her face.

"Good," his master said. "You've done well, Rhaegar.

"Soon you will become like us."

And no one noticed his numbness, nor the tear that threatened to spill from his eye.

He stood there for a very long time.

* * *

 _1952…_

Athelinda was tucking Sigurd into bed.

"There," she said. "Now, what story would you like tonight?"

Sigurd's eyes widened. The snake twirled excitedly.

"Tell me about Daddy!" He demanded. "Everyone has a Daddy, but me. Where did mine go?"

Athelinda froze. She didn't know what to say.

"I'll tell you the story another time," she said soothingly. "But now you have to pick another one."

Sigurd pouted, but said, "Tell me about the Dragon King."

"You mean King Arthur?" Athelinda asked. "Yes!" Sigurd declared. "King Arthur."

He was developing his speech well, Athelinda thought. He would be three that October.

"Very well," she said.

"Once there was a great wizard named Merlin. A long time ago, he and his sister were born. Their family came from an island called Atlantis, which is where we came from, but Atlantis was destroyed and their family were lucky to escape."

"Like us," Sigurd said softly.

"Like us," his mother agreed. "And then the Founders of Hogwarts, four of the greatest wizards and witches in history, found them, and took them in. They taught them, trained them to be the best. And when they were old enough, Merlin looked around them and said,

'We do not live in the best of times.'

"His sister couldn't help but agree with him. Britain was a terrible place. There was little or no civilisation. Muggles and Wizards hated and feared each other. But Merlin had a plan. He had a goal. He had a dream, that one day, everyone would have enough to eat, a place to live, and happy families. Where the bad were caught, and the good Muggles, Witches and Wizards, and other magical beings lived together in peace. But that plan needed something. Or someone."

"Nearby, lived a great and powerful Muggle King. Not magical, but he was a great and mighty warrior. His name was Uther. Uther hated Wizards and Witches. In fact, he hated all magical beings. But he was the strongest warrior-king in the land, and the Muggles adored him. They needed him. So Merlin had a plan.

"His sister Igraine, had just left school. She was the most beautiful lady. Lovelier than the dawn, the twilight and midnight. And Merlin saw this to his advantage.

So Merlin had a plan. At one party, Uther caught sight of Igraine and fell in love. He wasn't the only one. But he was the most determined.

"Now Igraine was terrified and hated the idea of being married to a Magic-hating man such as Uther. But Merlin gave her a choice. She can either marry him and work together to end this awful fight between Magical Beings and Muggles, or she can stay apart, and anger the King and make him hate Magic even more. So reluctantly, Igraine agreed.

The two of them married, and eventually had a baby boy, named Arthur. At this, Merlin was ready. He did not want Uther to teach and raise the boy- he would not teach him nice things. So he took the boy, with his sister's agreement, and gave him to a nice wizard named Sir Ector to raise, although he saw the boy very often. Later, they had a baby daughter as well, named Morgana."

Sigurd's eyes were growing hazy, and still Athelinda continued.

"So Arthur grew up. He grew up happy, without knowing he was a prince. But he did know he was a Wizard. When Arthur was old enough, he went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where his uncle and mum went to, and became a very, very, _very_ good student, and a brave one at that. He met several young boys and girls, all of them wanted to be a part of something- something great. They wanted Britain to be the best place it can be, not the dirty, awful, mess it was that day, with mean people mostly running around. Arthur was troubled. He spoke to Merlin and Merlin agreed.

He gave him an idea. A Big Round Table. Filled with knights and ladies- the best and most brilliant- the bravest, the truest. The kindest people. So Arthur made friends and they all shared his dream, and wanted to be a part of it. Now came the next step.

Merlin took Arthur to a place where there was large stone. Stuck inside the stone, was a sword, with a hilt of gold. Merlin told Arthur to pull it out. And there were many people who started to gather. Apparently, they did not think the boy could do it. After all, Arthur was only seventeen, and many other people- stronger than him- had tried it, and failed. But Arthur touched the sword, and pulled. And it came loose, like through butter. And the golden words glowed in the stone beneath the sword,

 _He who draws this sword is the true High King of Britain_.

And it means that Arthur was the head king.

Arthur's father Uther had died- and in truth, unless you were a Muggle, you wouldn't miss him. And now Arthur was crowned king in his place. And he set out making friends with Muggles, and helping them make friends with Wizards and Witches, so that they no longer hated each other…

"And soon, he fell in love with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, named Guinevere. He married her, and the two of them lived happily. Some say they had children, others said not. But they were happy, despite what anybody said.

"Arthur also had a sister. But he also had another sister…" Athelinda trailed off, when she saw that Sigurd was nearly completely asleep. She continued the story softly. The story that her mother and father told her. The story that she told him. The story that he would one day pass to his children, and they to theirs and so forth.

Hopefully that chain may never be broken.

She can only pray.

Athelinda lay awake that night. She knew she could not keep it up. She knew she could not keep running. Eventually she had to stop.

Eventually they would be found.

Fear thudded in Athelinda, but she forced it back. It was her own fault. She had to accept her fate. She reaped what she sowed. She can only pray and do so much as to keep Sigurd alive- and out of _his_ hands.

Her precious son must never be allowed to go anywhere near them.

Athelinda prayed that she could keep him safe- and that her family would.

But they would come- eventually.

* * *

This was not the story that Muggles told each other, including their children. Nor was it the tales and legends whispered around a campfire for children to be awed and amused, or even instructed by the history of some of the greatest wizards and witches in history. These was the Secret History, as some would refer it as, recorded meticulously and repeated down countless generations.

And they would never speak it again, until the time comes for the rebirth of their civilisation.

Only two outside knew. One sat, as others rightfully said, rotting in a fortress called Nurmengard. The other, ordered the torture of the brown-haired man from Switzerland.

His name: Tom Riddle. Only history would remember him by another name.

* * *

 _A valley in Northern Italy…._

Tom Marvolo Riddle strode through the silent meadow at night. The moon was only a sliver- a waning moon.

He might have smiled at the thought. As some died, the moon went with them. But he was not a poetic man. He had no time for such foolish nonsense.

And so the cloaked and hooded figure stepped over the disposed bodies of the corpses of the people he had first kidnapped, tortured, then slaughtered, before striding along on his way.

He stood in front of a gate, to a house. It was a relatively large house, luxurious and pretty, half-timber with a thatched roof and white-washed walls. A cobble-stone path led to the red front door.

He did not knock. He was not here for a cordial purpose. Pointing his wand at the keyhole, the _Alohomora_ incantation was uttered. The door silently opened. But he knew they would detect his presence. These were not fools, he could respect that.

Sure enough, a man and a woman appeared in their nightclothes and dressing gowns upon the stairs. He lifted his head slightly. What they saw underneath the hood alarmed them.

The man shouted, at his wife to go in Italian. The woman stood frozen. _"Prendi i bambini! Vai ora!"_ He yelled.

The wife recovered her wits and ran up the stairs. The man drew his wand. He nearly smiled under the hood.

He moved towards the hall. The man stood calm. Ah, he must have been trained in their warrior arts, he mused.

But that would do him no good.

The door swung shut. He raised his wand. Quickly the man shouted something- probably a disarming spell. But he was ready- he quickly blocked it.

But wait, he was not aiming to kill. Such weakness, he would never condone it in his followers.

He raised his wand. They began to duel.

Jets of light streamed through the air. He could not pretend the man was a formidable opponent, but still, he was no match for him. Mirrors smashed, ornamental vases shattered, and flakes of paint and wood crumbled from the walls and ceiling.

He was holding on his own.

The man shot a spell at him which glowed blue. Riddle blocked it, and set vague lilac-coloured one back at him. The man blocked it and sent a stream of smoke at Riddle, but he dodged it and sent a golden jet at a collision course towards him.

The man hurled a fiery jet at him. Again, he jumped to the side, dodging it, and sent a red stream of light towards him which was blocked, but apparently took a great deal out of him, because to the man's surprise, it required a little more than a mere shield charm. The impact of it disorientated him, and knocked him slightly backwards. It was a crippling spell. The shield charm blocked the worst out, but it still had its effects and costed a great deal out of his opponent.

Riddle had had enough. He cast a spell that shot several feet into the air, and hurled itself towards the man, who blocked it. But soon he fired even stronger, and more powerful spells at the man, numerous times and he was unable to hold on.

In the end, he never stood a chance. And Tom Riddle stood over the battered shell of the man, whilst the children upstairs were sent by floo-powder in their parents' fireplace, hurtling far away, before their mother came down to assist her husband, disobeying his orders to leave with them.

Only that she too, never stood a chance.

When it was finished, he made his way upstairs, and retrieved what he had been looking for: a parchment scroll bound with a scarlet ribbon.

He left immediately.

* * *

"There has to be some connection between these attacks," Rhaegar insisted. Three days later, he was discussing this with the only person- sadly, this seemed to be unbiased- who still had her reason, and furthermore, seemed wiser than the rest.

Alarissa frowned. "You're saying that the same person- or people- who attacked and destroyed Mystikawald, attacked the couple in Italy?"

"We searched the whole place. Atlantean family, very old and relatively wealthy, and holding valuable artefacts. Only problem was, that nothing seemed to be stolen. Yet whoever did this was undoubtedly looking for something- drawers were pulled out, desks overturned, storerooms invaded and scanned, wardrobes and closets turned inside out, their contents on the floor- yet nothing seemed to be missing."

Alarissa frowned. "You are likely right, and yet it appears that whoever is doing this is at the same time, more cunning and more foolish than any adversary."

"There's only one suspect on my list," Rhaegar said darkly. "Don't talk nonsense," his wife reprimanded. "Everyone is a suspect- and you certainly shouldn't set a biased opinion on one if you wish to know the whole truth. It could be him, or it could be another. The problem is anticipating and catching them at their game. Who do you think they will target next?"

"What makes you certain that they're not satisfied?" Rhaegar asked warily.

Alarissa smiled. "Beat them. Catch them at it. Learn the rules of the game."

Rhaegar scoffed. "Isn't that what I always do?"

Alarissa smiled, but her smile quickly faded. "The children…. The young girl has just arrived in Kataris. They're alright, but they've just learned…" Her voice trailed off.

Rhaegar went silent. The things they must have felt… "I see," he said, his voice quiet. "I'll speak to them in Kataris, then."

 _He left the house and disapparated once outside._

* * *

 _Kataris…_

The boy was in shock. The girl was sobbing.

The boy stared at the wall, sitting on the ground, resisting any attempts to move him to another seat. The girl was inconsolable.

Rhaegar had no idea what to do.

He had just seen their parents' bodies. What on earth could he say to them?

"They were there," the boy whispered. "Just there, they were…. Dead."

The girl looked up. Her eyes were a cornflower blue, swimming with tears.

"We-we didn't know- who the per-person was." She sniffed. "We did-didn't even see-" _sniff._ "-him. All we know, is that Mama told us to g-get up, an-and go to the-the fireplace. _Here._ " She broke down, sobbing and wailing. Rhaegar looked at Harald.

"There's something we can do." He muttered. He looked at some attendants. "Get some House-elves. They need food, rooms and beds, and," he looked at them. "Something for shock," he finished.

Rhaegar left the room. He was walking through the corridor, a cloud of thoughts in his head, when he suddenly clutched a wall.

 _It's time, my friends. Time to unleash the power onto the world._

* * *

 _ **This is not the most interesting chapter- forgive me! 'Bitte' is German for 'please', though it also doubles as 'you're welcome.' "Prendi i bambini! Vai ora!" is Italian for,**_ **"Get the Children! Go now!"**


	5. Chapter 5

**_"There is no refuge for memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance."_**

 **Gilbert Parker**

 _August 1943…_

"Hold steady!" Someone yelled.

Someone to his far right- his commanding officer, Rhaegar thought.

This wasn't his first taste of battle. He had been enslaved as a child. He held on.

"Hold!" He commanded them again.

The plan: To hold, charge and get to the canons as fast as they could. These canons were filled with more than mere blasting powder and cannon balls.

And they were ready to charge out of the boats, and onto the shallow waters of the beach. A simple enough task- were it not for the fiery explosives hurling towards them in their thousands, fired by enemy troops.

And the only thing that currently separated them: a large sheet of reinforced metal, protected with charms.

And the fellow near him was wetting his trousers, Rhaegar noted in disgust. Not that anyone could blame him. Rhaegar sighed. Songs, poems, sagas and so forth, even history books never mentioned the ugly side to battle- only the struggle, glory and so forth. It made them sound epic- even craved.

But the truth was far from it.

"Ready," The commander said. "Set. Go! Go now!"

The metal sheet lowered. Immediately curses shot down two of the soldiers in front. They instantly crumpled. But there was no time for sentiment- not if they wanted to live.

They charged forwards. The bodies of the soldiers in front made it difficult for them to get across. At this point, Rhaegar was certain he would die. But he would not die- not without one final reckoning.

He dove into the water, his head barely visible. With all the curses and explosives firing everywhere, it was difficult to get anywhere at all. And with dead or injured soldiers just dropping, the tidal waves, made strong by the movements, well. It was so difficult, but Rhaegar gritted his teeth. He had to. Somehow he had to.

Rhaegar fired curses. He could not stay still long enough to focus on a single target, but even with water splashing around, curses, explosives firing in all directions, threatening to hit, and soldiers falling, he got a clear shot and two targets- enemy soldiers on the beach- one behind a cannon was shot. The cannon instead backfired and the rank of Grindelwald's troops were blown up. But Rhaegar had no time to savour his victory.

Dodging the floating body of a soldier, who was lying face down, Rhaegar somehow managed to make it to the beach. But being on sand did not make it any safer for them. Flattening himself onto the sand, Rhaegar crawled his way up, and took down more targets- the most dangerous ones. But the nearest ones had to be quickly followed by more distant ones, as those were likely to spot the threat of his- and the others'- approach.

He had to get to a cannon. Fast.

Rhaegar flattened himself further on the ground. A curse narrowly missed him by centimetres. He needed to get a move on. Fast.

Nearby the others were scared. Too frightened and horrified to move, they were sure that this would be their end.

Rhaegar cursed. If they stayed there, they would die.

Against his better judgement and chances of success, he crawled over to them. "Come on- move!" he shouted over the explosions. They looked at him wide-eyed when he grabbed and shook them harshly. "Get this into your heads," he snarled. "You can move and get to the targets- which you might just live. Or you can stay here and really die." He stared at them with the force of his blue eyes. They cringed. "I will go with you. Now, move!" He pulled one, and started crawling back on his elbows, bent low. Cursing inwardly, the anger lent him strength.

Crawling as close as he could, he shot curses, and took out opponents, especially when they nearly hit his group- one member yelped. Rhaegar took out several- before finally, in a miracle it would seem, he managed to get to a cannon. "Take cover!" He yelled at them. He took out the cannons which were in closest shooting range to them, and the wizards who were nearest screamed as an explosion targeted them.

The explosives were designed to burn even underwater. So they stood little chance.

And the cannon exploded, taking out every target as he could, giving the others enough time to get within range and take out the enemy.

It was over.

Rhaegar collapsed on the sand. Not a heroic stance, but who cared? He was worn out. The adrenaline had gone, and he was drained. So many were dead. He was sure the others would be as well.

"Damn them," he whispered, before he lost consciousness.

Of course he managed to open his eyes, as he sensed someone- a medi-wizard- placing a drink to his lips- water, he realised. He drank, and was revived. And he looked up on the beach and saw devastation and death.

Dead bodies were strewn about the beach along with scorch marks- the remnants of curses and explosives. The bodies were grotesque- the result of severe injuries, such as having limbs and heads blown off, or distorted by magical curses- and a number of them still floated on the sea. Of which, a horrible thought occurred to him, two of the soldiers that were in front of him on the boat were included.

They had won. But there was always a large price to victory.

And there would always be. _There is no true victory in war,_ his father had said. No matter what his tormentors believed, that was the truth of it. And it was better to feel grief and remorse, than to step over the bodies as if they were nothing- as if there was no one who would mourn them.

Like Riddle.

* * *

 _1952…._

Rhaegar opened his eyes. Tom Riddle. He was responsible for this, he was sure.

Rhaegar rose. Where would he find him?

He had no idea where to look. He could go to the place where his sister claimed she last saw him- but he doubted he would be stupid enough to remain there. And if he was there, than there would likely be Dark Magic lingering there- and followers.

Riddle had followers, the same as Grindelwald.

His former co-prefect was on a terrible path.

Rhaegar had to stop him before he became a Dark Lord, like Grindelwald.

Before he could acquire the powers and followers necessary to attempt any invasion.

But somehow, he knew that was not destined to succeed.

So Rhaegar walked out into the night with a troubled mind.

Alarissa watched her husband go from a window.

She knew it would be fruitless, this mission. But somehow, Rhaegar felt he had to try. And she knew he would make it back alive and unharmed.

Rhaegar took the portal to Britain. He apparated to a cliff overlooking a beach.

There was a cottage, overlooking the beach. A strange and haunting place, that once would have been lovely, but now- particularly as it was dark- was not a welcoming place. Rhaegar uttered Atlantean magic. A simple _Hexia Revelio_ or _Homenum Revelio_ would not be sufficient, but he did cast a _Specialis Revelio_ , to reveal any spells.

Nothing.

Rhaegar grew more wary. Uttering the strongest and most potent Atlantean charms and counter-curses and hexes, it was a while before he could allow himself to set foot inside the cottage.

Rhaegar slowly cast an _Alohomora_ charm and pushed the door slightly open. It creaked as it moved.

Inside was dark- which was good that he had lit his wand at least. Empty and abandoned. By the looks of it, there did not seem to be a person inhabiting this place for a long time.

Everything smelt musty and mouldy. There was a thick layer of dust everywhere, except for… strange.

Rhaegar knelt. There were marks on the floor. A thick, long winding and curving _thing_ had made marks upon the dust. But as to what it was….

He had a stinking suspicion that he knew. But all his sister's snakes had gone. Well, all except an egg, which should have hatched by now.

Surasa's egg.

Surasa was a massive, green serpent, as thick, heavy-bodied and long as a boa constrictor or a python, but was neither. Green and highly venomous, Surasa was named after Athelinda's Nagini foster-mother and was utterly devoted to Athelinda and Sigurd.

So the snake had hatched and hadn't left, or still returned to this place occasionally. Did it remain as the familiar of Tom Riddle or had it been abandoned long ago? Would Tom go anywhere near it?

So many questions. And not enough answers. Surasa had claimed- through Athelinda- that Tom Riddle had defiled her egg and unborn child- depriving her of her chance to become a mother to a baby. It could only be Dark Magic.

But there was nothing here. Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, as he left, disapparating into the night.

* * *

He apparated in front of the heavy wrought-iron gates that stood in front of his family home.

Placing his hand on the iron, he murmured an incantation that allowed the wards of his home to detect whose blood ran through his veins.

Silver light ran through the ornate iron swirls, curves and lines.

The gates unlocked and swung open allowing Rhaegar to walk the path. It was the dead of night, now. The fountain still splashed musically, but was nowhere to be seen. And he didn't fancy accidentally stumbling into the maze, so he walked straight ahead, and the front doors swung open.

His mother's eyes widened when she saw him. Racing down the marble staircase, clad in her dressing gown she embraced him tightly.

"Oh, I've missed you," she whispered. She pulled back, and Rhaegar saw tears shimmering in her clear, deep blue eyes.

"Your father's on his way down," she whispered. "And… Rhaegar, there's news." He cocked an eyebrow. "Mother?" He asked.

"Your sister's getting married." His mother chose to tell him instead. "Her wedding is set for April, next year."

Rhaegar froze, shock turning him into a statue. "Who?" He finally managed to whisper. "To whom?"

She sighed. "Jason Selwyn."

"Selwyn…" He whispered. Ice cold shock and horror flooded him. "Isn't that the name of…"

"An old pure-blood family," his father emerged from the top of the stairs. "Very old. But Jason is a nice boy."

Rhaegar tried to recover from his icy shock sufficiently enough. His little sister… _Philomena…_

"She can't- she can't-" he whispered. "She'll be fine," His father smiled sadly. "I suppose I'll have to get used to the idea that you're on your way."

But Rhaegar said nothing, merely absorbing this in silence.

"Are you sure Jason is a nice boy?" Rhaegar asked. "Even…"

"His family is what concerns me," his father said. "Not so much the boy."

His mother didn't say anything about that, merely pressed her lips into a tight line.

Rhaegar noticed this and narrowed his eyes. "I see." He said. "And when will I meet my soon-to-be brother-in-law?"

"Soon enough," His mother said. "Meanwhile, would you like some coffee, tea? Butterbeer? Anything to drink? Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine," Rhaegar said. "There's no need to wake Winny or to go to any trouble on my account."

Katerina smiled, but said nothing. In her eyes were the wariness and tiredness of worries and fears.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Athelinda whispered, speaking through the fire.

"I'm certain," Rhaegar replied. "Nothing has been there recently, except for Surasa's child."

Athelinda looked down. "Surasa mentioned that he defiled her egg with Dark Magic," she said. "Did you see any sign of the snake?"

Rhaegar grimaced. Why in Merlin's name would he actually _want_ to see the thing? "No sign apart from tracks, Athelinda. Besides, if what she says is true, than the damage is likely to be permanent. The fact that it was still inside an egg when the magic was cast, makes this… difficult. You'll have to consult experts on this, but in the meantime, there are other places to look." He paused. "You are aware that Philomena is getting married?"

Athelinda started. "What?!" She asked alarmed.

Rhaegar explained about Jason Selwyn.

Athelinda looked dubious. "I'm not saying the boy is like that, and I'm trusting Philomena to be smarter than I was in picking a husband," she said. "She's far from foolish. But as for the majority of the family." She looked apprehensive and doubtful.

"Are you sure Philomena isn't rushing into this?" Athelinda asked. "I mean- it's all of a sudden- I haven't even met the man. How long have they been going out for?"

"According to our parents- some time now." Rhaegar finished. "A few years." Athelinda sighed. "I don't trust the family, Rhaegar. I'm willing to give Jason the benefit of the doubt, and I don't believe that the whole family is like that- I'm not prejudiced- but I know for certain that a number of its members are pure-blood supremacists. They are a very old family, after all." She paused. "As for my own deeds- I know I'll never have peace. I'll come back to Britain. In the meantime, why don't you get Alarissa there as well? I have some potions for her to try out."

* * *

 _24_ _th_ _December, Christmas Eve, 1952…_

It was snowing bitterly. And apparently they decided they would spend Christmas in Britain.

Rhaegar stamped his feet to get rid of the snow from outside as he stepped indoors and made his way to the Drawing Room. The strands of his hair were slightly mussed from the wind, and there were snowflakes on his winter cloak. But the fire was warm and cheerful, and was scented. Indeed he smelled cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, roses, walnuts, honey and a number of scents, both spicy and sweet from the enchanted fire in the ornate marble fireplace in the drawing room.

There were garlands decorating the manor's foyer, parlour, ballroom, dining room and drawing room, mistletoe among other things, with holly berries and gold grape leaves and lights magically captured from fairies strewn about artistically. The richly carved elegant cedar panelling gleamed golden-brown, with its ornate carvings of vines, birds and blooming flowers with honeybees, polished brightly, not too much decoration was needed, just some along the borders. An enormous fir tree stood near the fireplace, protected from the sparks by magic and decorated lavishly, with gold and baubles, sparkling golden streamers and other things, which contrasted sharply with the green.

Rhaegar smiled, remembering the happy times he had as a child. There had been happy moments despite the time he spent amongst the Children of the Endless Night.

But Sigurd was currently the only child running about now. The only one gaping in awe at the decorated Christmas tree, the only one laughing and clapping his hands in anticipation of his Christmas presents, the only one jumping up and down when he saw and then when he tasted the treats Winny brought out for him.

Only Sigurd.

A sudden dullness settled onto Rhaegar. Not yet but soon. He hoped. It would take away a great deal of their emptiness and banish old demons.

It was haunting and sad, this emptiness. _Now I know what others feel like,_ he thought dully, his sudden glumness coming from the emptiness and memories that the Healers in Kataris had warned them. The fact that Rhaegar and Alarissa had come from two different species meant that their chances of conceiving were limited. Hybrid children were rare- far rarer than even Squibs and seers.

And besides, the Healer warned them. If they succeeded, that child was going to have a hard life.

Prejudice, she meant. The Wizarding World was rank with it.

Rhaegar furrowed his brow as he made his way to where his mother was levitating more Christmas decorations upon the tree.

"Mother," he greeted. She turned and smiled. "Sigurd!" He lifted the boy up in the air, making him squeal. The silvery-green eyes, like his grandfather's, glittered excitedly.

"It's Christmas!" Sigurd said happily. Rhaegar laughed. "Yes, it's Christmas tomorrow."

Sigurd squealed. "Play with me! Snow!"

"Sigurd, what do you say?" His mother asked from where she was kneeling on the floor tying a red ribbon on a parcel.  
"Please!" The boy said. Rhaegar laughed. "Of course, I'll come!"

Rhaegar went back out in the snow with Sigurd, conjuring interesting shapes with the falling snow and enchanting snowmen for his nephew's amusement.

Sigurd was happy that day. Andreas had spent some time with the snow in the garden, so his grandson could play with greater ease.

But after a while, Rhaegar came back inside, telling the small boy to behave himself and not to climb anything, to go up the stairs. In the hallway of the family's living quarters, however, he froze.

Through an open door, Rhaegar glimpsed his mother. She was kneeling on the rich carpet of a spare bedroom. He frowned. What was she doing there? But instead of asking, somehow, he decided to watch.

He looked around. There was no one. Not even reflections on the gilded mirrors above the ornamental tables. No sound in the richly furnished spacious hallway, which was good, because acoustic enhancements would tell him if it were otherwise.

He looked back at his mother. She was placing pictures- photographs in a box. His eyes sharpened. Somehow he could see a picture of a fair-haired boy with merry, mischievous eyes. He frowned. Where had he seen that image from?

Disturbed, Rhaegar turned away.

They were having guests for Christmas Eve feast tonight. And Rhaegar could not allow his inner turmoil- or his fear of having others see Alarissa- come to pass.

Yes, he was afraid.

What would happen if others saw her? Would they regard her as an outsider- a freak? An exotic specimen that's wondrous to look at, but really, shouldn't be at a dinner with formal society. He frowned. Why did they have to socialise on such a holiday?

It was a _family_ occasion. And they were having the Selwyns.

Rhaegar scowled. If the Selwyns react strongly to having Muggle-borns anywhere near them, he was sure they would react even worse if they knew a non-human would be near them. Honestly, he was tempted to blame his little sister, but no one really planned who they would fall in love with.

Including him.

He just hoped tonight would _at least_ be tolerable.

* * *

Athelinda was in white silk with gold-leaf trimmings. She shifted, not used to the elbow-length white gloves that encased her arms, with a heavy gold bracelet on her hand. Her hair was done up, partially cascading and she wore black jet necklace. White and black. The colours she had been well-known for.

Athelinda glided over to her wardrobe, hands stroking the wedding gown had hung there. The embroidery of pearls and silver thread formed the buds and blooms on the border that sprung up so briefly during the false spring during their engagement. It was symbolic, she thought, considering that the spring wasn't really a spring and made way to something else, as did the marriage. Diamond pieces encrusted French lace. Athelinda had spent the last of her allowance, before walking out on the family home, on this expensive wedding gown. The veil was trimmed in silver lame and she wore a crown of Narcissus and Petunia- symbols of pride and resentment. What she had felt.

 _It was never meant to last,_ Athelinda thought. She had been a fool. She hoped her little sister would be wiser.

Every sign- every nuance- every detail she overlooked pointed to the marriage being a complete and utter disaster. Why didn't she realise it? She wasn't even sure she loved him! She was awed by his passion in wanting to change the Wizarding World for the better, and to stop them from going into decline. She sympathised with him, and felt that he needed someone in his life. She admired and respected him, for assumingly being a good person and for being intelligent- he did save her life, she remembered that as well. He excited her- her interests, her desire to delve into the unknown. But anything else? Did she even stop to think?

And now, the worse thing was, her younger sister was going the same way.

* * *

The party didn't start too bad, Rhaegar admitted grudgingly. The guests arrived late- as usual, a fact which highly irritated him- most of them believed the more important people were, the later they would arrive- and most decided that they were the most important. So they deliberately tried to arrive as late as possible.

Harald was good enough, Rhaegar thought. He didn't arrive late- he was right on time. With his wife in tow, Harald moved to greet Rhaegar's parents, then Rhaegar and his wife.

Rhaegar smiled at them. Harald's wife was a very beautiful woman with golden-blonde hair, and illuminated blue eyes with tiny delicate features and ruby lips.

"Harald," Rhaegar smiled. "And this must be Elisabeth, am I right?"

Harald nodded. "Yes, this is my wife." Elisabeth smiled. "I am surprised you made it to Britain, at this time of year," Rhaegar muttered. "Everything's far from easy." He turned to his wife. "This is my wife, Alarissa." He didn't miss the way Elisabeth's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly in shock and awe. Elisabeth had taken care to form an impression with a shaded, blue-green trailing dress in gauze with gold leaf patterns and a beaded bolero jacket. But as always, everyone felt insignificant and shabby- at the very least- when confronted with Alarissa.

Alarissa herself was shimmering silver with sequins and a hint of blue, a gown that hugged her curves and slenderness and flowed like a waterfall of silver about her. She had diamonds in her hair and neck and she shone brighter than the moon with beauty it seemed, her pale skin glowing and radiating light around her, her hair partially fastened and bound by a diamond fillet, so the rest of the liquid mane cascaded, gently waving down her back. Her features were even more delicate than hers, Elisabeth thought, cringing, and lips lusher and rosier.

Both husband and wife sensed Harald's wife wanted to shrink. Alarissa however, made no sign of knowing and smiled at the young woman.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Alarissa murmured. "I am truly glad you could come. Rhaegar has told me only the best of you." Elisabeth seemingly relaxed and cheered up. "Thank you. Your husband is very kind," she said with a slight German accent.

Harald looked at Rhaegar. "Rhaegar is good," he said quietly. Rhaegar stilled. There was a hidden meaning in there.

"How is Alexander?" Rhaegar asked, referring to their three-year-old son.

"He is well," Elisabeth murmured. "It is a pity he is too young to conduct such a trip."

Rhaegar nodded but his mind was elsewhere. Eventually Harald and his wife moved on to meet the rest of the family and greet Willamar.

Rhaegar sighed. This ball was going to be long. He prayed that it if it couldn't be happy, at least it would be as boring as possible.

Strange thing to hope for, but better than anything terrible.

In formal dress, the fitted dress robes Rhaegar wore were the deepest black emblazoned with the red dragon and with crimson lining the sleeves, trim and white collar. Rhaegar aimed to look as austere and imposing as he could- better that than suffer any of those malicious, elitists-

He cut himself off.

Willamar was talking to a young woman, but his attention was diverted again as he caught sight of his father and mother leading the guests to the parlour. He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Alarissa touched his arm, and he glumly walked to the parlour with his wife.

Rhaegar could never imagine that something good would come out of this.

After being served refreshments- canapés, butterbeer, champagne and firewhisky- the guests stood and chatted.

Rhaegar shrugged aside a floating bottle and glass. "It's Christmas, love," she implored. He sighed and smiled. "My apologies. I just wanted to spend Christmas with you- with _family_." He said desperately. "I want to spend it with family and I want something happy to happen to us- to enjoy this night and tomorrow. Not," he jerked his head towards their direction. "Them."

Alarissa sighed. Humans were a complicated people. For a number of them, making others feel bad, was a way of making themselves feel better. For the Fey, they could never understand such malice and unkindness. It was better, she had been warned, to stay as far away from them as she could. But she had grown too curious. The result? Being caged and groomed to be on display and meeting the one man she would ever love.

Hopefully, they would have something to celebrate tonight.

More people came, in glittering dress robes. Some of them were being vain for the sake of it, and did not wear cloaks, coats or even shawls and scarves, casting undetectable heating charms instead.

Rhaegar saw someone, and caught Athelinda's eye. It was Jason Selwyn, he deduced.

And he had promised to behave himself.

Eyes flashing, Rhaegar forced himself to calm down and smiled.

* * *

In lilac gossamer, stitched with sugar-like crystals over deeper lavender silk, Philomena shone, more cheer in her than in the entire room, Rhaegar thought. She had violets in her hair and diamonds, and she was far too happy with that man.

Jason. Rhaegar could not understand why she liked him so much. Although he could not deny he was comely, the young man was insipid. That was all he had- looks. There was nothing to suggest a man of poise and intelligence. Or poise through strength. Nothing to radiate out of him and say that this was a man who was more than meets the eye- and after meeting and selecting so many cadets, Rhaegar would know. There was nothing extraordinary about him, and Rhaegar somehow could tell that the man was extremely ordinary- compared with Philomena's brilliance- being a prodigy from a young age and having the highest, soaring marks in school- and although he was good looking, it seemed like varnish, covering up something that would otherwise seem… Like nothing.

Baffled, he turned an incredulous gaze towards his other sister, as if to ask her if he was dreaming. This _had_ to be the most illogical choice Philomena had ever made, period.

Athelinda grimaced and sipped her champagne. She wanted nothing more than to get very drunk tonight. But it was Christmas tomorrow.

Her father made a speech. "Welcome," he said. "And thank you for joining us in our Christmas Eve celebrations." He smiled. "At this feast, I am glad not only to welcome you, but to announce the engagement of our youngest daughter, Philomena, to Jason Selwyn." Everybody murmured in surprise and clapped enthusiastically. Rhaegar's eyes narrowed and his lips were pressed tighter than they were before.

And he didn't even get to meet the fellow.

"Let this be a sign of a very happy new year." He held out his champagne flute. "Merry Christmas and congratulations, to my daughter and her groom." Everybody raised their glasses.

Katerina smiled, and Rhaegar wondered how much she was actually smiling inside. She then proceeded to announce that dinner was to be served shortly and to instruct the guests to go to the dining room.

Rhaegar muttered to his wife, "Is Selwyn trying to hide something from me? He's been going out with her for years now, I've never met him- never even been introduced even on this night, and he's announced his engagement to my sister? Does he have something to hide?"

Alarissa gave him a look. "Don't think like that," she said soothingly. "For the sake of peace, your while family and your sister, give him a chance."

Rhaegar scoffed. "I can try," he said darkly. "But don't expect me to succeed." He gulped his champagne.

* * *

They entered the dining room- a very large hall, with rosy marble tiles and a magnificent carpet. The guests marvelled at the space, the elegant marble mantelpiece and the painting, but Rhaegar's icy glare was firmly fixed on his sister's fiancé.

How could she? And for him no less? If she were confunded or under the effects of a love potion, he would expect no less.

Everyone seated themselves around the large dining table. Rhaegar tapped his finger lightly against the stem of the empty glass. His father made another toast, and waved his hand. Instantly, food appeared on the table and everyone _ooohed_ involuntarily.

"So happy to see a couple in love," gushed an elderly matron whose headpiece was too bright a pink. Rhaegar's mother smiled. "I see your eldest son is married," she said squinting her eyes and widening them. "Oh, my. Merlin, truly? To such a great beauty we've never seen before? What about your other children?"

"My elder daughter is a widow," Katerina telling the lie she had been rehearsing for a long time. "Her husband died in a training accident, shortly before the birth of their son."

"Oh. My apologies. Such a terrible tragedy."

"My younger son remains unmarried," Katerina said calmly.

"Ooh," the matron turned towards her granddaughter. A pretty girl who beamed with delight. No doubt she was planning to entrance Willamar or excite him in any way she could. Good Luck, Katerina almost snorted. Willamar hadn't fallen in love since he lost that girl- that Muggle-born girl who was burnt on a stake by her fanatical, cultist family.

He was still mourning her, she thought, and her heart squeezed in pain for him- only he refused completely to talk about it.

"What are these dishes?" The matron asked. Katerina's eyes found her eldest son's and her daughter-in-law. "Honey-and-crystallised-blackberry spiced biscuits with strawberry preserve," she said bluntly. "Bread baked with oatmeal and bits of orange, fig and dates. Bergamot and orange-blossom-water pears." "Mmmm," the matron said. Rhaegar's eyes caught hers. _Smile,_ she seemed to hiss at him. He didn't dare scowl, but his eyes darkened. She seemed to tell him, she didn't like Philomena's engagement and was not happy that this prospective son-in-law chose to go and disrespect them, behind their backs no less, but there was no choice.

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. There was always a choice. Did his mother expect him to welcome the boy into their family at such an insult- disrespecting them, making them seem like fools of what was going on- did he really expect to gain their trust? When he had such a family, he needed to show that he was different from them in order to welcome him into their family and to allow him to go anywhere near his youngest sister. But no. That never happened did it? They had no reason to trust or respect him.

Rhaegar's inner rage flared.

Katerina pressed her lips tighter together. After the appetizers were finished, she noticed Athelinda looking at her. Her glass was already emptied, and immediately refilled itself. This was not looking good.

Several men were gawking at her daughter-in-law and turning a ludicrous shade of purple. The women were muttering amongst themselves, ugly flushes staining their pasty-powdered complexions. No doubt hissing insults about how insulting and belittling it was to sit with a _non-human_. Katerina's temper flared. She wanted to throw them out.

But she couldn't.

How dare they? She thought to herself. How dare they? Especially when she was so much better than they- in character, in intelligence, and even in birth if it was _that_ important. She sent an acid gaze towards them. Alarissa would never do that.

Heat flared inside her. Of course this was what the Healer meant when she warned that any child of theirs would have a difficult life. Even Muggle-borns were more accepted than so-called 'half-breeds'. Disgusting and shameful. Her people knew more magic than the human race ever would.

Containing her rage, Katerina waved her wand and the next course appeared. Honeyed duck with herbs, which one ghastly man tore into so eagerly, the grease flooded his hands. Hot bread dipped in honey, served with lamb with raisins, dates and grape leaves stuffed with grapes, honeyed raisins, and paprika. Pheasants, berries and figs with plum-wine sauce. A large turkey, stuffed with herbs and fruits, slathered in apple sauce with cherries and pineapple rings stuck to them completed the course.

If anyone dared to insult her future grandchildren, it would most certainly be the most painful end she would bestow upon them. She would not even hesitate. Katerina noted that they saw her glaring acidly at them, and instantly they looked down. _Serves them right,_ she thought.

Even if they came from one such as him, she thought, looking at Jason. He was kissing Philomena's hand. She didn't know if it was a mere flattery or a true gesture of emotion.

"Will you calm down?" Andreas muttered beside her. She sighed. "Sorry, love." He sighed. "I know you're not happy, but this is Christmas Eve- do you want to spend it nursing all this inside you, or do want to enjoy the time you have?"

She sighed. "You're right. I'm so sorry," she said sincerely. Andreas sighed again. "You and Athelinda spent so much time organizing this, and yet, the two of you- and Rhaegar- are truly the angriest people in the room. And this is supposed to be the happiest time of year."

Horrible, terrible guilt welled up inside her. "My love, I am sorry." He shook his head. "I don't want you to be _sorry_. I want you to be happy, and put aside your troubles- for tonight and tomorrow at the very least. I don't think Alarissa is happy with the direction your moods are going either."

With more guilt, Katerina realised that Alarissa was somewhat upset, more upset about the moods, she thought, than with the mutterings and gawking of the men.

She put an apologetic and gracious smile on her face.

Alarissa caught her eye and smiled.

 _What is wrong with them?_ Andreas thought, scowling into his wine, even though he knew.

Soon the dishes were cleared. Andreas smiled, and lifted his glass, stood. "Happy Christmas, everyone. And a happy new year too." Everyone lifted their glasses. "Happy Christmas!" They cheered.

Dessert came. At this point, Katerina had cheered up immensely. Smiling at her children and the guests she _did_ like, she happily forgot and put aside all negative thoughts. By the time the dessert arrived she was beaming.

Andreas snorted with amusement. But Katerina had every reason to be cynical about men proclaiming love. What happened to her and their eldest daughter was reason enough. It was dreadful- horrible beyond imagining. More than anything. And it was unimaginable if anyone should find out.

The dessert course came out: mooncalf milk mixed into vanilla ice cream and rice pudding flavoured with berries, honey-finger biscuits with milk-dumplings flavoured with rosewater as syrup and petals and ice cream with raisins and chocolate and raspberry soufflé.

And off to the ballroom they went. But Katerina lagged behind. Excusing herself, she slipped off to a side room.

Rhaegar saw his mother slip away.

Murmuring something to his wife, he went quietly after her.

It was dark. But Rhaegar didn't need to light his wand. Months of training and experience in combat taught him that if he went on a covert mission, he could not light his wand. He had to operate in the dark.

Catching up to his mother, Rhaegar saw her kneeling yet again. And again she took out a picture from a hidden compartment in a table before setting it on fire.

But not before Rhaegar caught the image of a golden-haired boy with merry, twinkling eyes and a mischievous grin. Rhaegar froze. He had seen pictures of that man before. And just before the fire crisped it away, he caught the image of his young mother beside the young man.

"Mother." Rhaegar's voice caused her to jump alarmingly.

"Rhaegar," she said breathlessly, trying to control her heartbeat.

"What are you doing?" He asked, going towards her.

"I-" Katerina paled. "I was just-" he frowned.

"Mother."

He stepped towards her. "When Athelinda left to get married, you reacted terribly about this."

"Of course!" She exclaimed incredulously. "What mother wouldn't?" "But," Rhaegar continued. "It seemed that you had a tremendous amount of foreshadowing- as if you were haunted. Why don't you want Philomena to get married- I understand the reasons you share with Athelinda and I, but there's something else, isn't there? You are particularly opposed to the match- but every time you speak of it, you never seem to mention his family, and your suspicions about them."

She paled further.

"Mother," Rhaegar said sternly. "What is going on?"

"Does it have something to do with Gellert Grindelwald?"

* * *

 ** _Hmmmm. I'm really starting to wonder whether I'm doing crap at this fanfic, even worse than the last! Please let me know! Constructive reviews are welcome, but not insulting ones! There are going to be fights and battles in this fic. Dumbledore, Voldemort and Nicolas Flamel will make an appearance, as well as a few other witches and wizards known from history._**


	6. Chapter 6

_**"There's an old saying about those who cannot remember the past being condemned to repeat it. But those of us who refuse to forget the past are condemned to relive it."**_

 _ **Emily Thorne**_

 _ **"Don't worry that your children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you."**_

 _ **Robert Fulghum**_

* * *

"Mother?" Rhaegar asked. He had never seen his mother so white.

"Rhaegar," his father's voice appeared from behind him. "Your wife is being approached by some hungry-looking men."

He turned and raised an eyebrow at his father. "After years with my wife, I know they wouldn't dare to get too close to her if she doesn't want them to." Though admittedly, normally he would have rushed out of there, but he had the feeling that his parents were hiding something from him.

"What is going on?" He asked in an icy tone. "If you have a special reason as to why Philomena can't get married, by all means, tell her, if not me."

"We have no reason to stop her," Andreas said firmly. "No matter what our wishes and feelings towards the marriage are. Please, Rhaegar. Another time."

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes at both parents, which- though they never admitted it- affected them more than it should, considering he was their son. He strode out of the room.

"Katerina," Andreas said. "You have to tell them. One way or another, they are bound to find out. As will Sigurd."

"Someday," Katerina whispered. "But not today."

* * *

Rhaegar stood with his wife. "Tonight, my love," she said. "You are in the worst of moods. This is supposed to be a night for great celebration. Yet even though you want nothing more than to forget that man, you are brooding on him. Constantly." She looked very upset, pursing her lips together.

Rhaegar felt deep shame and remorse. "I'm sorry doesn't seem to cut how remorseful I feel," he admitted. She shook her head. "No it doesn't. But go now and talk to your sister. Better today than tomorrow." She glide swiftly away.

Rhaegar felt a knife plunge deep inside his heart as he watched her leave. He felt a deep and terrible upset and shame- because he'd hurt her.

He sighed. He really needed to make this up.

He watched her with pain in his eyes, as he belatedly realised, his sister had left her fiancé's side.

"Rhaegar?" Philomena asked hesitantly. Rhaegar turned a stony look towards the youngest of his siblings.

"Sister," he acknowledged curtly. She flinched. "Brother, would you care-" "To meet and greet your fiancé?" Rhaegar laughed softly but harshly. "No I don't think so. I have nothing to say to that man. Now and ever."

She took a step back. Her eyes flashed- with hurt or upset, or probably both- before saying. "Brother-"

"I may have lived in Germany, but I have been in Britain on more than one occasion already," he said in a deadly, quiet tone. "And yet, not once, despite having been numerous opportunities to do so, have you introduced the man- not to me and not to Athelinda." He said icily. "Yes, his family are well-known pure-blood supremacists, but I was willing not to judge the boy on his family- you know me better than that- and after having courted him for such a short time, here we are, you never once approaching me before the announcement that made your engagement public." He narrowed his eyes. "Did you even tell Mother or Father, I wonder?" She went very still.

"Imagine that. Philomena Artrigos, one of the most brilliant and brightest students Hogwarts had ever had in its day- a Ravenclaw who valued knowledge and logic above all else- yet this is the most illogical choice you have made. Do you really expect us to accept- even to trust this boy- after going behind our backs, humiliating us by this public announcement and having people congratulate us on having a new member into our family, when I and Athelinda for one, have never even been introduced to him. What does this say about his character? And yours? His family wouldn't accept a secret or sudden engagement- in fact, they're beaming right now, which means they must have known about it beforehand. They don't _look_ like they've been given a sudden shock. Yet why do _we_ have to do it? Do you really expect us to trust and welcome him?"

Philomena looked down, flushing with shame. "Rhaegar, I-" "Go to Athelinda," he jerked his head in their sister's direction. "See what she thinks. After all, she's had the experience of eloping and look how that marriage turned out." He moved away.

Philomena stood there for a long while, face flushing. She guiltily moved towards her elder sister. "Athelinda," she began.

"Philomena," Athelinda said, just as curtly. "What is it that you wish?"

Philomena flinched. "I just-"

"What?" Athelinda said in a very deadly tone.

Philomena took a deep breath. Yes, she knew. She wasn't foolish. No one smart ever thought this was easy.

"Athelinda, I- I just-" her sister raised an eyebrow.

"I think you're highly intelligent, even for my standards, and Rhaegar's and Willamar's." She said softly. "But I think this is the most illogical nonsensical thing you have ever done in your life. You expect us to trust him? To treat him with respect when he has not treated us with nothing of the kind? Need I remind you of what happened to me? I turned my back on the family, Philomena." She said, narrowing her eyes. "If you can't learn from my examples, my mistake is imprinted on our memories. And soon it will be imprinted on _yours_." She left.

This had to be the worst Philomena had ever felt. Not that anyone could blame them- she and Jason had gone to his parents for permission. But after seeing her own mother's reaction to Jason… She just couldn't bring herself to do the same thing, even when Atlantean tradition strictly demanded it. And knowing Rhaegar- _and_ Athelinda's own experience- her siblings were unlikely to welcome him. And Jason's family did _not_ help matters.

They were right. It was cowardly and it was utterly foolish. The most foolish thing she had ever done.

Willamar had seen the exchange and was drinking heavily- from champagne. Nothing too strong. The girl next to him was a very pretty, sylph-like figure, with curly golden brown hair, cut short. Her hazel eyes twinkled. She was the same person who had handed the speaker of ceremonies the silver cup the last he had been in Kataris.

"Your siblings seem unhappy," she purred. He shrugged. "Perhaps they are."

Her shifting hazel eyes danced. "Why are you so unhappy?"

He shrugged. "Possibly because the woman I love is long-dead." He shrugged. "And my sister is heading for a marriage which will put two families in conflict with one another." He shrugged again. "Yes. That would be the reason."

He had been drinking heavily last night. And his nightmares brought him no peace. Usually drunk people slept soundly after they have passed out. Not him.

He had screamed. Moaned, _"No!"_ in his sleep, turned and tossed, moving agonisingly tangling and rumpling the sheets in his apparently endless nightmare.

And it happened night after night. Always the same thing. Burning.

He would never know peace. He would never know love again.

And he had refused to share his burdens.

"What's your name?" He asked the girl.

"Talia," she said softly. He smiled. "Well, Talia," he said. "Sometimes things don't work out the way we hoped it would. But it doesn't mean that sometime, somewhere, it might not turn out the way we have been working so hard to do."

He took another swig of wine. He was referring of course, to his elder brother and his wife. The two of them loved each other more than the world, no matter what others said.

And they were lucky.

* * *

"Is it done?" The voice asked.

"Yes, my lord." The Malfoy man knelt before his master. "It is ready."

"And soon, the Atlanteans will no know what has hit them. Send out the beast."

"Yes, my lord."

A deep, terrible growling, deeper than the rocks rumbling beneath the earth, sounded. But it was no mere animal. Not even a magical beast the likes of which Newt Scamander would know about.

A heavy, magically-reinforced steel cage shook. It was covered with thick drapes.

And beneath that hood, Riddle smiled.

Sometime in the night, a city was silent. It was asleep. Children were tucked in their beds, sleeping soundly after fathers and mothers had read them a bedtime story or sang them a lullaby, and they themselves were deep in slumber. Sleep will never save them though. Neither would their dreams.

BOOOOOMMM!

The explosion blasted within the city. And within moments most of its inhabitants were dead.

Parents jumped awake in beds, hearing the screams of children, running as fast as feet could carry them to their bedrooms.

The sounds of glass smashing echoed and witches screamed shrilly outside. Wizards were yelling and shouting at one another and small children were wailing. They were trying desperately to find a way out of their houses, through all the smashing windows and walls that exploded with loud blasts, showering bits of rubble, plaster and paint everywhere. The families choked as they desperately tried to claw their way out, seeking the front door.

When they did find it, a number straightened, blinking at each other, before jets of spells hit them and they crumpled.

Fire burned, exploding the houses, setting people on fire, until their shrill screams rang through the night air.

And in the town square, stood several figures robed in black and wearing metal masks shining menacingly in the firelight.

Some people screamed, when they saw them. The figures raised their individual wands, and bursting out of the tips, several powerful spells designed to annihilate.

And at that very night, countless masses lost their lives.

Just as before. The nights imprinted on the memories of those that had lived before during Grindelwald's rise to power. But it was nothing, nothing compared to what was happening now. No terror could be as great, as haunting as the survivors themselves would say.

It would happen again. Again, would they come.

* * *

"Alarissa," Rhaegar looked down. His wife sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so unbelievably sorry."

Alarissa gave him a mournful look. She sighed, and turned back to look at him.

They were on the balcony.

"I don't care what other people think. What matters most is what the people I love think." Alarissa said, turning back to the view. She wiped away tears.

Rhaegar instantly came to her, enveloping her in his arms from behind. "I'm sorry. I _do_ love you, and that's why…" He swallowed. He really shouldn't have cared what people thought, then if he cared about her feelings. Maybe he was oversensitive. And as for his sister…"I'm sorry." He looked down, genuinely pained.

Alarissa, sighed, hands pressed to her front, but leaning back against him.

"If there is nothing I can do more to take back what has happened," he said strongly. "Then let me compensate for everything that has been done by me. There's nothing I wouldn't do. Even if you would have me battle a chimera, a manticore, a nundu and a dragon at once, I would never _hesitate_." He looked deep into her eyes.

She laughed slightly. "I'm not asking you to do anything half as dramatic, Rhaegar. Just… Spend some time… With me."

Athelinda watched her brother and sister-in-law from the shadows. She had ceased wanting something like that for a long time. Or maybe she never wanted it. She just hoped Sigurd would.

She turned away. But she also glimpsed Philomena watching them silently. And Willamar. It appeared her other siblings were having some nostalgic feelings. Philomena knowing that was what she was hoping to have with Jason. Willamar because it reminded him… Well…

She saw her other brother turn away, tears in his eyes.

 _Ghosts,_ Athelinda thought. Not the wonderful ghosts she knew at Hogwarts, but the ones that were never there, and were constantly present, nonetheless. _Willamar has them. I have them. Even Rhaegar has them, though thankfully now, he has found happiness._

What she didn't know was that her mother had them too.

She turned to the other side of the room, to see that her mother looked somewhat shaken… To her eyes at least.

Athelinda forced a smile. But her mother was far gone to realise.

* * *

 _Durmstrang, 1898…_

" _No, it's not right." Katerina said softly. She fingered her own wand. "Here."_

 _The parchment rose into the air, and promptly burst into colourful sparks that showered on them like a fall of fireworks. The young boy grinned, full of awe and amazement._

 _They were currently sitting in a courtyard, dressed in furs, with a large castle looming ahead- larger than Hogwarts, though not as graceful. Other students lounged about. But only Gellert and Katerina were sitting together._

 _One boy laughed- a rowdy, rude sound- at an inelegant, bawdy, and a slight bit sadistic, joke. Katerina frowned, turning to the sound of the noise._

" _Why do you talk to him?" She frowned. "Why do you even sit next to him? He is so cruel, Gellert."_

 _Gellert Grindelwald shrugged. "He can be pleasant company- you just have to know him, and see the best in him, at least."_

 _Katerina frowned again, doubtful, but keeping her misgivings to herself._

" _Gellert," she said again. "How are things at home?"_

 _Gellert's shoulders hunched up. "My mother is getting worse," he admitted shamefully after a short silence. His father had long died- in a brawl apparently. It was the shadow of shame that lingered over him constantly, that made him strive to be better, more brilliant and stronger. Katerina empathised with him. She knew he didn't want her pity._

 _She smiled sadly at him. "You will make her proud," she said finally, strength in her voice. "I know you will. And perhaps that will make her feel better."_

 _He smiled at her, that mischievous grin she loved so well._

" _Katerina," he spoke softly. He hesitated. "Do you… Are you still afraid?"_

 _She blinked. "Of what?"_

" _Your heritage," he said. "Of people finding out."_

 _She shrugged helplessly. "It's more than a matter of fear. Our people swore we would return in triumph again when the second Camelot comes. And then we can be safe- never shall any Muggle threaten us. No more hiding from dark sorcerers. Yes, I am afraid. I would be a fool not to be afraid. But I am still alive, and my children would live. My grandchildren too."_

 _Gellert frowned. "You place a great deal of faith in a single prophecy."_

 _She shrugged again. "We have no other choice."_

 _He didn't like the sound of that. "What if things could be different?" He asked her. "What if you can be free- what if we all can be free?"_

 _She smiled sadly at him. "Gellert." She said. "You have a good heart. And good intentions. You are someone whom people will follow and who is destined for great things." He grinned, glowing at her praise. "It's the truth. I trust you enough with my heritage and that secret. Isn't that enough proof?" She laughed slightly. "Gellert." She grew serious again. "Be careful, though. Many people corrupt their morals, not to mention their purposes and aims in life, in the journey they undertake to gain them. Don't let that happen to you."_

" _You think I would?" Gellert grinned. "Come now, Nina. Would I be your one and only friend named Gellert if I did?" She rolled her eyes, and he laughed out loud. It was a merry, golden sound, speaking of honey and ripe cherries, and singing birds joyfully taking flight._

 _It was one of the things that haunted her. That laugh. It changed. It was not the same laugh he had, after he looked at her one last time, with shock, disbelief, a flash of pain, and barely-concealed betrayal. When he harshly told them he would be back, and he would have vengeance- and most of all, he would make the world see, that the winds were finally blowing in their favour. The laugh died with the boy she knew._

* * *

Katerina smiled mechanically. "So you have a son," she said conversationally to Elisabeth. The young woman smiled. "Yes. Alexander." She said. "My pride and joy." She beamed.

Katerina smiled again. "Children are such a joy." Apple juice poured itself into their empty crystal goblets. Rhaegar looked royal tonight, she thought. The red and black suited him. Nearly every man looked like a gaudy, garishly vulgar statue of bright gold compared to him. He was regal in the deepest, finest black silk, with a white linen shirt beneath, razor-edge collars and crisp cuffs edged in red. His skin gleams and shines like brighter than ivory, with an icy hint, accentuated by his clear, deep, icy-blue eyes. His hair shone and gleamed a deep black. He had more presence and elegant authority to him than anyone else, she thought.

"Our children are the future," she said finally. "Even though we cannot tell them what to do and what path to take in life. We let them make their own mistakes, and pray that they survive and learn from them." Her eyes drifted to Athelinda.

Athelinda looked breath-takingly beautiful tonight, she thought. A vision in white and gold, she seemed to literally shine and glow- her black hair a sharp, elegant contrast to her white skin, same with her jewellery and entrancing eyes. The white silks accentuated her slender figure, making her seem to glow, a queen of light, her skin glowing, the same shade as milk, making her shine in the dark of the night. White gloves encased her arms and a bracelet of gold, her hair partially flowing like melted black jet. More queenly, graceful and beautiful than Katerina could hope for when she was pregnant.

Elisabeth was unaware of Katerina's thoughts and attentions. "You have raised your children well," she said smiling. "I hope I can be half as good a mother as you."

 _Believe me,_ Katerina thought. _You wouldn't want to be a million miles close to the mother I am. I failed them. I failed them all. My eldest son, whipped- tortured! In every possible way! Brutalised and enslaved! My eldest daughter- taken due to a careless slip at birth- I foolishly disregarded her growing feelings, failed to say so much a word of sense to sink into her head in place of those horrible delusions I could have- and should have- saved her from and advised her against! Awfully Allowed her to walk away from the family home without so much a word edgewise- straight into the hands of the biggest monster I had never imagined- not even the boy I knew in school could match him and what he had taken from us- and from her! My second son, heart-shattered, grieved, shocked, mourning and broken forever for the only woman he had ever loved and my youngest daughter- my baby about to make the same dreadful, mistakes that I and her sister made!_

She didn't say these words, however, but smiled at her. Only she would know how dreadfully she failed as a mother, a wife and a friend.

Could history have been different, and the future too, if she had more strength, more will to stand up and influence good sense into the minds and hearts of those she loved?

She would forever be tormented by this question.

Andreas gave her an encouraging smile.

Katerina smiled forcefully and said. "And now," she announced. "The Mystic's choir would sing a number of new carols they have made, especially for this season." She smiled at the group of people in ice-and-mid blue velvet robes.

They started singing hauntingly, eerily beautiful music. Katerina turned away.

She couldn't bear how big a failure she had been to her own children. She avoided any eye contact with them. If anything went well with them, it wasn't because of her.

She couldn't bear it in the slightest. Better she had no contact with her grandchildren before she ruined their lives as well. In fact, how long until her children find out the truth about Gellert Grindelwald?

* * *

 _ **Yes, I must really be crap at this. I'm sorry for the late update, anyway. I have university assignments and exams on. Am I really crap at this? This has even less reviews than Lady of Serpents, and by far less than my Lord of the Rings fanfiction Shieldmaiden.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**"Don't ignore the past, but deal with it, on your own pace. Once you deal with it, you are free of it; and you are free to embrace your life and be a happy loving person because if you don't the past will come back to haunt and keep coming back to haunt you."**_

 _ **Boris Kodjoe**_

* * *

Christmas.

Rhaegar opened his eyes. He could hear his nephew hollering and hooting with joy and he leapt about the hallways, before Winny and his mother reprimanded him to keep quiet, and be considerate to his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. He smiled.

Sigurd just couldn't wait for his presents. He nuzzled his wife. "Happy Christmas, my love," he murmured. She smiled, eyes still close, and her shapely arm closed around him, as he drew closer for a kiss.

They couldn't linger, though, no matter how much they wanted to. Rhaegar sighed as he got up, went to the bathroom and dressed.

Sigurd was downstairs, tearing at the wrapping paper, eagerly trying to open his presents. His mother sighed and was the one to save the pretty paper and ribbons.

"Merry Christmas," Rhaegar called cheerfully. Athelinda smiled warmly as Sigurd squealed and ran to him. He scooped the boy up and cuddled him close.

"Merry Christmas!" Sigurd cried. He laughed as his uncle tossed him into the air before catching him again.

"Where's your grandparents?" He asked him. He shrugged. "Still asleep, Mummy says. Wanna open presents?"

Rhaegar laughed. "Alright I'll open presents with you."

Rhaegar knelt beside the Christmas tree in the drawing room. But his mind was on other things. Where was Alarissa?

He wondered if she would like his gift.

He wondered if they could get over the events of last night. But selfishly, he admitted to himself he wanted no presence of Jason Selwyn to mar this day.

He had finished unwrapping Sigurd's presents, when Alarissa herself came down in her dressing gown and an exquisite nightgown trimmed with priceless lace. She smiled at him. "Happy Christmas, love." She kissed him, and moved onto Sigurd.

Rhaegar had countless things to be grateful for on that day.

Winny came out, asking if they wanted breakfast, before Sigurd ran over and enveloped her in a tight hug. She was plied with presents, though none of them were clothes, and they would have private meals together- breakfast, lunch and dinner.

It was a perfect day, in all. There were laughter and smiles, a far cry from the night before. Sigurd ran about squealing, they played games.

And Rhaegar pulled Alarissa to a secluded corner with him. He gave her a small box.

"Happy Christmas, love," he said softly. She opened it and gasped. Her eyes widened.

It was a set of jewels. But these weren't ordinary jewels, and no goblin had crafted anything as beautiful as these. The stones glowed as if made of starlight and moonlight themselves, and the glowing silver-white metal did as well, crafted into exquisite shapes and intricate ones, swirling delicate vines, fine buds, and other patterns. They were a tiara, a necklace, a bracelet and rings. They glowed and shimmered with the light of the moon, stars and sun it seemed in their gems and metal.

"These were made by the smith in your father's employ." Rhaegar said softly. "By the member of your house. I know you don't need extravagance, but also know it can't be easy for you to go without home for so long. The home of your birth. So here's something to match the beauty of the Fey's cities for you." He looked at her mournfully. "I know. Leaving your people and your home was the hardest thing you ever did. Humans are among the cruellest creatures to walk this earth, I won't deny that. We are cruel even to each other, and it shames and dishonours us tremendously. But even so, to our shame, and my own, you put up with us." He smiled. "My greatest wish is for your happiness, Alarissa."

Even if the other wish, just as great, wouldn't come true.

Alarissa seemed to sense his thoughts. "I have a gift for you as well."

He blinked. "You already gave me one." She gave a conspiratorial smile. "The greatest gift I can give. My love I am with child."

* * *

Tom Riddle paused. The dead lay about, as plentiful as wheat in a field. He narrowed his eyes.

Dark clouds occluded the skies. His followers had gone home to celebrate Christmas with their families. He scoffed at that. He did not need the celebrations, but it was necessary for them to groom and cultivate their children, to mould them to his own purposes.

Riddle clenched his fingers around his wand. He smiled, a bone-chilling smile. His skin was naturally pale, but now it was white as a skull's, if not whiter. His features had somewhat changed, becoming more distorted, as if made of half-melted wax.

Tom Riddle was gone, mostly. The man he had become was less of a human being and more of, what some would say, a monster. Years of rituals steeped in dark magic, ancient long-forgotten dark secrets, or self-discovered abominable arts, led Tom Marvolo Riddle to become completely unrecognizable. No one would have guessed this was the handsome, charming, polite Head Boy at Hogwarts, the teachers' pet. Would Athelinda have recognized him?

Where had those thoughts come from? Riddle frowned, which became a scowl.

Athelinda. He hadn't thought of her for a long time. Or rather, so up-front like this. Usually she lingered at the back of his thoughts, when he closed his eyes. But she was there. An ever-present reminder for him, never to weaken once, never to fail. Never to trust, either. Not even his Death Eaters, former Knights of Walpurgis, had his complete trust, no matter how much they boasted or made complete fools of themselves to each other, and his allies.

But, no matter. Riddle had another proposition. Another plan. These attacks were nothing. But Athelinda's memory had stirred something within him. Something which made him think, then gain a bit of shock (to say the least).

Didn't she have a child? She had been pregnant when he had last seen her, unless she had lied, then the child would be a few years old, by now. But he could never be sure of Athelinda. Or her motives. His frown deepened into a scowl.

Riddle turned away. The pieces were moving into place. And soon, the Volsung would be in disarray. And he would move, and he would strike a dark blow against them.

Rhaegar had a great Christmas, in all, and the news had overjoyed him beyond belief, but as soon as he went to sleep, he had his worst dream yet.

* * *

He was there. Standing at the edge of a dark and menacing forest at night, under the light of a waning moon, and there, were countless people, dying or dead. Knights, he thought in shock. In full armour, and most of them _were_ dead. Lying on horses, shot with arrows, or with numerous wounds, pierced into the armour that encased their flesh.

And beyond it all was a dark-haired man.

And another. A taller, handsomer man. Much more handsome and light, with gold-brown skin and amazing features. He had a gold crown on his head, and although may normally have looked cheerful, this time, numbness and grief were set in his features. By his side a gleaming sword, shining as if it were made of moonlight, seemed to drop.

"Father." The dark-haired man called.

Arthur Pendragon stiffened. He turned around, so he saw the younger man with darker hair.

"My son." Arthur said.

A twitch pricked the younger man's lips. "Your bastard son. The one you threw away."

Arthur's face twisted in grief. "I never would if I knew. I tried to make amends, took you in-"

"But not enough for that witch to take me in either!" Mordred shouted.

Arthur looked even more aggrieved if possible. But then he froze. "Mordred, what have you done?

"What have you done to you mother?"

Mordred looked menacing, evil in the dying light of the moon and the starless sky. He was handsome, yes, but not a quarter as much as his father, and he was icy-cold and chilling to the core. "I corrected my mistakes. I did what I should have done years ago, Father. What you failed to do. Mother breathes no more."

"No!" Arthur took a step back. "How could you? This was your mother! The woman who gave you life!"

Mordred spat upon the ground. "Yes!" he snarled. "The woman who lay with her own brother and committed the most heinous act. Who brought me into the world, nothing more than the sole purpose of making me a tool of destruction, a pawn and a slave! Who tortured and cowed me as a young boy, increased my rage and hate, and adored watching others torment me! I prayed, Father! Night after night, day after day, I prayed that my true father would come and take me away from her, to avenge the wrongs done to me, but you weren't there!" He spat. "And I learned that you can never count on anyone. Especially your own blood. Morgause wanted me to be a creature of destruction, she never minded if I lived or died, and so I will. But if I die, I take her with me. And I shall take you as well!"

Mordred gave a cry of rage and lunged with his own sword. Arthur side-stepped his blow.

"Mordred," Arthur's voice was pleading, clouded with grief. "Please… I never knew you existed, if I did, in less than a heartbeat I would have taken you away and made Morgause pay from her actions. But I never did. You are my son, no matter what you did. Please. Do not make me do this. Nothing can stop my hand, especially if there are others who need saving. By our laws, whatever bond I have with you as your father is broken if you attempt to kill me. I… I would not be able to stop…"

Mordred laughed harshly. "Is that what you are afraid of? The great Arthur Pendragon, frightened of raising a hand against his own bastard?" He laughed harshly.

"Mordred," Arthur said. "You never even knew I was your son!" Mordred shouted. "You never tried to acknowledge any bond, never did anything, save for the tiniest amount when you said I was your nephew." He spat the word out. "Why act so different now? Why not carry on as you did before? When you had your _legitimate_ offspring." He sneered.

Arthur took another deep breath. "Mordred, please. I don't…. I don't want to do this. I do love you, despite all that has been done. Please…" The great Arthur was begging now. Begging his son to allow him to spare his life. The son that should have never been born.

"The Knights of the Dark Mountain are gone," Mordred said. "Though some remain. I have taken them, Morgause's father's pets. And I have used them, and destroyed them, as they deserve. Now the Knights of the Round Table… And Clan Volsung… They shall suffer the same fate."

"Mordred!" This time, Arthur's voice was a warning bark. "Don't do this! You won't be able to stop me! I won't be able to stop myself, no matter how much I want!"

Mordred laughed again. "Then by all means," he said. "Do not let me stop you! You cannot."

He lunged with his sword at Arthur, and stabbed him in the side, but that was because he let him, Rhaegar thought in shock. But Arthur, his eyes filled with tears, raised Excalibur and brought it down, hard, upon his wayward son.

Mordred fell limp to the ground. Arthur fell on his knees, and wept. He collapsed, but someone arrived.

A woman, her face lovely. Her hair was dark and glossy, her eyes deep violet-blue, her features fine and delicate. She had a veil over her hair, and knelt beside Arthur comforting him.

Another woman emerged. This one bore a strong resemblance to the younger woman, but her beauty was even more so. She was tall, regal and stately. The way she carried herself, her poise and grace…. He knew her. He had seen her before…

"Arthur," she said softly. "Morgana." Her voice too, sounded familiar. Then a man appeared. Tall, robed in black, flowing robes, he radiated an aura of power, authority and grace and deepest magical powers and mysteries than none can know. Merlin.

"It is time," he said in a voice that chilled Rhaegar, and entered deep into his blood and bones, reverberating within him. Even his voice was full of the greatest power and mystery if magic.

"Brother," Morgana, turned him to the side. She took a glass vial in her delicate hand and poured it over Arthur's wound. After minutes of tending to him, she turned to Merlin and the other woman and said, "It is time." She stood. The Morgana magically lifted Arthur onto a stretcher, and the other woman gathered up Excalibur. She swallowed at the sight of Arthur.

"What about Guinevere?" She asked. "She will join us there." Merlin said. "And someday, Arthur's children too, will return to this land, and create a world order of golden peace and prosperity once more." He turned away. "But not this time, yet."

"To the Island of Avalon, we shall go," Morgana murmured. To be safe there, where no harm can be done to us. To rest, to regain our strength until the time is right."

The vision faded out.

Then another came out.

"Six more," a voice hissed, beneath a hooded cloak.

"They have joined us. And now, we shall begin. Our purpose will be served. And when the war's done, we shall reign, and the Muggles and Mudbloods shall be trampled at our feet."

"Yes," Another voice said. One that was frighteningly familiar to Rhaegar. "Yes, we shall have more. We will have the alliances, oh, that much and more. But we must wait. Wait and be patient. Only a small amount time from now."

The second hooded figure turned and Rhaegar almost yelled. His face was distorted, as if his features were made of half-melted candle-wax, distorted and blurred but very white. His eyes were bloodshot, the white streaked with red. Something was very wrong indeed. And he smiled a thin-lipped smile that was icy even to look at.

* * *

Rhaegar woke with a start.

It was morning, his body told him that much. But not yet dawn. He got up silently as to not wake his sleeping wife, and went to the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Rhaegar had inherited his father's features, but somewhat different. His skin was fair, whereas his father was tanned. Their noses were similar, high and thin, perfectly shaped, as if cast out of a mould, but Rhaegar lacked the bridge that made it aquiline. They had the same sculpted cheeks and high, defined cheekbones though. But Rhaegar's eyes were a deep, icy blue, like his mother's, and his feature's clearly-cut. Rhaegar looked hard in the mirror, trying to find… What was he trying to find? Some resemblance to King Arthur? Ha! Anyone would wish that!

And the distorted features and voice of the hooded figure haunted his mind. He had never seen that face before, but where….

Rhaegar did not know. He feared he would never know. But he feared even worse was that he would find out sooner than he liked.


	8. Chapter 8

The Beautiful and Terrible thing called Truth

 _ **'Forgiving someone is easy, but being able to trust them again is a totally different story.'**_

 **Unknown**

"Commander," One of the soldiers gasped. Rhaegar frowned, looking up from his activities.

He was this time, in the nursery, with his wife, delightedly looking at the plans.

The next few days after Christmas, Rhaegar had been overjoyed beyond imagining. Truly, happiness shone from within him, and he was not happy to be interrupted.

"Yes?" He asked.

The soldier bowed and handed him a scroll of parchment. Rhaegar frowned and took it, untying the string and breaking the wax seal to unfurl it.

The soldier bowed his head and left. They couldn't risk sending owls, in case they were intercepted.

But in times of peace- well, not open war, anyway- they could afford more relaxed measures of communication than what they usually had.

There was a silence while Rhaegar read, then:

"WHAT?!"

"Love?" Alarissa frowned looking at him in concern.

He looked at her, his face was utterly white.

"We've been attacked." He whispered.

* * *

"Are you certain?" He demanded harshly. Next to him, Harald winced.

"Who are they?" Someone else demanded. "That they dare attack one of our cities? _En masse_ as they were? As in _ARMIES_? ARE THEY REMNANTS OF GRINDELWALD'S FORCES?"

Rhaegar snarled. "We should go to him. Wring the truth from his neck!" Not something he usually did, but when someone, or some people, were under his protection…. The consequences of breaking that protection were….

"I've already spoken to Grindelwald," a witch named Marie said. "I went to Nurmengard as soon as the attack was heard of."

Rhaegar shook his head harshly. "Whoever they are they have great power and forces at their disposal. We cannot ignore this threat any longer!" he glared at each and every single one of them as if saying this was their fault. "But, my friends, _pray_ it _is_ Grindelwald. If we have to defeat another Dark Lord of Lady…."

He left that chilling fear hanging in the air.

He turned and once he had left boundaries, he disapparated with a _crack_.

* * *

 _Nurmengard Central Europe…._

Rhaegar apparated with a _crack_. He stood in front if the chilling, foreboding gates of Nurmengard.

The clan's forces had imprisoned Grindelwald here, despite calls from the international Wizarding Community to have Grindelwald executed- or better yet, Kissed by a Dementor.

But the clan loathed Dementors even more than Dark Witches or Wizards. So Grindelwald was thrown here to rot, in this unplottable fortress in Europe. No one dared go against the clan, and Dumbledore, the victor of the final great battle, had supported them publicly and strongly.

Rhaegar intoned the enchantments in his mind that were necessary to pass through this place. Not even a master sorcerer would be able to penetrate the fortress' defences. Not only Atlantean magic, but it was exclusive only to a select few- members of the military elite. Not even new members of the elite received that privilege.

The place would have turned anyone's blood to ice and froze their bones as well. Just knowing countless innocents were worked to death, tortured, killed sadistically in the most agonizing of ways for _fun_ ….

Rhaegar passed through the slogan, _'For the Greater Good'_ in iron. For the 'Greater Good' indeed. How many people have to die, for a war to stop? Rhaegar might have been a warrior, but if it would be forever for another war to turn up, it would have been too short a time.

Rhaegar passed through icy cold walls of stone, former places of torture, for prisoners. Always their screams could almost be heard in the haunting eerie silence of the stone corridors. The cells. He didn't stop, though. Didn't let it affect him. Didn't even bother to peek into any of the cells until he reached what he went for.

He arrived there.

It was the topmost tower. A place so high and isolated, Rhaegar just knew that if anyone died here, save for those that brought the prisoner food, no one would know anything.

A man, thin and drained as could be, huddled on the iron bed. His robes were tattered. He'd grown a dirty beard, so stained, like his hair, it was hard to tell the colour it was now. He looked nothing like the mischievous carefree blond boy he had been in the pictures, nor the tyrant yelling orders to his troops.

Gellert Grindelwald.

Rhaegar made his presence known. He tapped on the door.

The former Dark Lord's shoulders tensed, then relaxed somewhat.

Rhaegar used his magic to allow him entry.

"Grindelwald," he said after a moment of silence. Grindelwald's back was turned to him.

Rhaegar wondered if he had fallen asleep upright.

"What does the clan want of me now?" The former Dark Lord spoke. So he was awake.

After his imprisonment, the clan visited him a few times to interrogate about his forces, the remnants, the individuals loyal to him, his spies, and so forth. Grindelwald had nothing to lose. He had already lost his magic. As for his wand… Rhaegar could never be too sure what Dumbledore did with the damned thing.

 _Probably snapped it in half,_ he thought. _And burnt the pieces_.

"The clan wants nothing. _I_ want something." He answered. That made Grindelwald pause. He slowly turned towards him.

Grindelwald stood in shock at the sight of the unbelievably handsome young man in front of him. His poise and composedness suggested that he was military _and_ of aristocratic background. He wore the Volsung Clan's military uniform, and judging from it, was a member of the elite forces. But that was not what shocked Grindelwald to the core, more than anything.

His eyes.

They were the deepest, yet icy blue. Eyes that he knew. Eyes that he never really forgot or hated, no matter how much he pretended. Eyes that secretly haunted him to the depths of his soul.

Rhaegar stepped forwards. The shock paralysed Grindelwald seemingly. Rhaegar himself was in shock. No, Grindelwald would not be expecting visitors- unless he remembered he just had one that morning, but...

The man's pale blue eyes were staring at his ones.

And with a shock, himself, Rhaegar remembered his mother.

He remembered the pictures. He remembered her _eyes_. He had _her eyes_.

"Did you know her?" He wondered somewhere, in the back of his mind, how he had found his voice and managed to keep it emotionless.

Grindelwald stared at him. "Knew who exactly?"

"You knew her, didn't you? My mother?" Rhaegar asked ignoring his question.

Grindelwald narrowed his eyes, trying to cover up how much this young man unnerved him. " _Do_ I know you?"

"I was young but in the forces when you were defeated," Rhaegar said icily. "But I am not asking about me. I am asking about my mother. Katerina Alexios." He remembered her maiden name.

If Grindelwaldwas shocked into a sudden icy stillness. "Your _mother_? Katerina is your _mother_?"

"Yes." Rhaegar looked steadily at him in the eyes.

Grindelwald stared blankly at the stone wall.

How things would have gone, he mused. How different things would have been. The dying flames reflected in his eyes but he saw nothing. Just her.

He remembered her. That beautiful, gentle yet proud young girl. Fantastically arrogant, reined by her emotions as much as her spectacular brains. He remembered the days they spent, laughing at their innovative new charms and causing piles of paper and parchment to explode when they didn't like their work, or their rivals taunted them. He remembered the tricks he got up to, how she smacked him afterwards, threatened to jinx him if he got into any more trouble…

And their promises. The little of their hopes and dreams they shared- how he had been blind- they had been so little. That look… The last look they shared with each other. Never again would he set his eyes on her. Never again. And he had left, arrogantly proclaiming that he didn't need her, but admitting silently to himself that he not only _did_ , but he depended on her the way he did on no one else. Time and time again had taught him to rely only on himself, especially after numerous betrayals, but despite his intentions, he had found himself leaning on her more than anything.

He had fought. All this time thinking of her. Convincing himself that she would see reason and they would be reunited together, her and him championing and guiding the new world order. And he had seen her face just before the last duel, just before he collapsed and allowed blackness to overcome him.

And all the time in Nurmengard… He had mourned only one thing.

Now he looked up at the boy with her blue eyes. Those blue eyes, seemingly staring and piercing straight through his soul and seeing right through him.

"So is that why you have come? Katerina's son, to ask me what she knows? Perhaps you should have asked your mother in the first place."

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "I'm asking _you_." He said in a deadly-quiet voice.

Grindelwald stared for a moment then began to laugh hysterically. Rhaegar showed no emotion whatsoever apart from his lips twitching somewhat and a strange glint in his eyes.

"Your mother proves to be as deceitful to you as she did to me, then." The former Dark Lord stated. Rhaegar showed no emotion whatsoever. The former Dark Lord was trying to goad him.

"Perhaps. It's in her nature to conceal many things, especially that which brings her great pain," Rhaegar said quietly.

"Great pain." Grindelwald snorted. "Did my leaving bring her _great pain_? All those years she claimed to love me, to stay by my side for eternity, and at the slightest mention of seriousness, she fled."

Rhaegar took a few steps forward. "So you _did_ know each other." Inside he was feeling icy-cold shock drench him to the bone. They _loved_ each other.

Now he knew why his mother reacted so badly with Philomena's fiancé without even knowing him. Now he knew why his mother loathed Tom Riddle with a passion (though not without reason).

It was all because of what _she had done_.

Rhaegar forced an icy smile on his lips. He couldn't afford to act weak in front of this man, no matter what he had been reduced to. Now that the world was at stake, especially now that he had so much to lose. He not only had a wife, he was about to be a _father_ , now.

"When did you last see her?" He asked, as if from a distance.

Grindelwald smiled a blade-like smile. "November 1925. Why?"

Rhaegar was silent. Outwardly he looked as if he felt nothing. As if the information was nothing. But inside….

Rhaegar had no trouble with the math. A bucket of the iciest freezing water seemed to drench him head-to-toe, straight to the bone. As if someone had cast a permanent Freezing Charm in his insides.

Rhaegar had been born on August 1926. Exactly nine months after the date Grindelwald gave him- or roughly, anyway. He didn't give the exact date.

But Grindelwald claimed not to have known who he was- and he did act shocked. And yet….

Rhaegar, if possible, felt even icier inside. Now it all made perfect sense.

His mother. The most deceitful, manipulative, secretive, dishonest, selfish hypocrite of all.

Rhaegar wanted to run from the room. He wanted to scream. He wanted to whip out his wand and blast Grindelwald to shreds- except that no one could cast magic in this place. He wanted to dive into flames and kill himself. He wanted to howl at the skies. To blot out his existence to the world.

 _He lies!_ A voice screamed in his mind.

And yet… What if he wasn't lying?

He had smiled, as if he knew what this was doing to Rhaegar inside. Did Grindelwald know that Katerina had married? That would have been no surprise. But then again…. How much news would he have had in this fortress?

How would he know when Rhaegar was born? And counted backwards to the time when he would have been conceived?

Rhaegar however said nothing. Whoever this man thought he was, he was a monster, and a deranged one at that.

"Tell me, Grindelwald," he said quietly. "Did you make any plans, before your ultimate downfall? Apart from conquering the entire world and setting up a new world order with wizards on top and Muggles enslaved at the very bottom?"

Grindelwald laughed. "If I did, do you think I would be imprisoned in this very place, which I had built to house those that did not believe?"

" _They_ built this place. Not you." Rhaegar said quietly. "They laboured, blood and sweat, hour after hour, week after week, month after month, year after year, to build this place, so they would be thrown into these very walls, dark and cold as could be, without seeing the light of day ever again. Without ever seeing their loved ones- their husbands and wives, their sons and daughters, their grandchildren and siblings, all because you could not bear it so. Just because you lost what you guarded close to you, does that mean that everyone should lose it as well?"

For the first time, Grindelwald's face showed an ugly flush.

"Watch what you say, _boy_." He sneered. Rhaegar grinned. "No one's called me that for a long time. Not even when I was a youth training to be a soldier." He laughed harshly. "Please." He looked the older man straight in the eye. "You did nothing. You deserve nothing. You thought to set up a new world order against all odds- you thought you would be the one leading it. You thought that simply because you were simply _lucky_ enough to be born Pure-blood, meant that you could trample on everyone who were simply _unlucky_ enough to not be born one."

Grindelwald's face flushed even further. "How dare you!" He growled. "It was they who trampled us in the first place. Those damned Muggles and their witch-burnings-"

Rhaegar scoffed, still looking at Grindelwald in the eye. "No country has had a witch-burning since the eighteenth century! And even then they started to decline! And although you say they treat us as freaks if they knew, and that Muggle-borns are a threat to our race, ask yourself this, did you _choose_ which family you would be born into?" His icy eyes bored into Grindelwald's pale ones.

It was as if a canon-ball had dropped into the room.

They stood there for a long time.

"Are you going to answer my question?" Rhaegar asked icily. His icy eyes- which seemed to have an effect on Grindelwald- never once moved from his and seemed to see right through his soul.

Grindelwald froze. Apparently he could think of nothing to say, when confronted directly with this question.

Then he sneered. "I don't have to answer to you, _boy_. You or anyone."

Rhaegar looked icily at him. "Then you have to answer to yourself. Ask yourself why you're in here, and why my mother married another man. Ask yourself whether it was clever of you to think of everything up, and why you are here. If it _was_ clever of you, why are you in here?"

There was a pause.

"People _dead_ before their time." Rhaegar spat. "Mother and Fathers lost their children, sons and daughters, their parents. Siblings torn apart- by war. All because some were merely _lucky_ enough to be born Pure-blood wizards. But ask yourself this- was it anything more than luck?" His eyes blazed. "Was it anything more than luck we were born Pure-bloods?"

Not even the former Dark Lord could say something against that.

* * *

When Rhaegar left Nurmengard he was steaming. Rage simmered in him. Bitterness, hatred and resentment. And more.

He had looked evil in the eye before, and yet…

And there was the information he gained.

Now he wondered what Sigurd would feel someday when he grew up and learned the truth. Heck, he wondered what his own child would feel if she ever knew.

But was it the truth?

 _He lies…_ Rhaegar's mind told him. He is filled with lies….

And yet… he had looked shocked that his visitor bore Katerina's eyes. And he _did_ know his mother. Not even she could dispute that.

Either way…. He would no longer trust her. Not as long as he lived.

Rhaegar disapparated.

Alarissa was waiting for him when he got home.

She smiled and ran to him.

"Careful!" He said in a warning tone as he caught her, his hand automatically going to her belly. It was still flat.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm more coordinated than humans. Even when pregnant. Besides what could happen?"

He scoffed and gave her a kiss, wrapping his arms, a little too tightly around her.

"Rhaegar," she complained. "Sorry," he muttered. He drew back, as if his very touch would contaminate her. She looked at him, alarmed. "Rhaegar what's wrong?"

He took a deep breath. She noticed he was shaking slightly. That frightened her. He would never react like this, unless something major had happened. Apocalyptic even.

"Rhaegar," she touched his arm. Her gentle touch seemed to have restored something within him, and when he looked down, she noticed that his colour had gone back to normal. "Please," she led him to the kitchen.

Minutes later, after fixing them both cups of tea, she sat across him, while their drinks cooled.

There was silence. In a way, they were both glad the atmosphere was warm and cosy.

It was a while before either of them spoke.

"Was that all he said?" Alarissa said.

Rhaegar nodded. His eyes fixed on a spot in the table in front of them. "Yes."

Alarissa looked at the teapot. "Rhaegar."

He looked up and their eyes met. "Gellert Grindelwald has been known to manipulate others by playing on their emotions- their desires and fears, their loves and hates. He is a master of this. Do not take this to heart. He could be lying."

"Could be," Rhaegar said. "Except he didn't know my mother had a son, much less four children, who and how old I was. How could he possibly know, being trapped in there?"

"He could have received news about the outside world along with food," Alarissa reasoned. "Yes," Rhaegar said. "But not about my birth. Or my mother's marriage."

Alarissa sighed. "Grindelwald had _spies_ , Rhaegar. And he was captured _after_ you finished Hogwarts."

Rhaegar sighed. "Oh." He snorted. "Right."

"If he was in love with your mother and he was resentful that she left him, it could only mean that he was keeping tabs on her- at least before the war broke out." Alarissa stated. Her fingers twirled the spoon in her teacup. "He might have even been suspicious that she was… you know… giving out information about him."

Rhaegar snorted. "But she could hardly have been the only one, could she?" He demanded. "There were many others…."

"Yes." Alarissa said. "There would have been. But your mother would have known him best of all."

Rhaegar stared at the swirling tea in his cup, bitterly. Of course she knew.

"She lied." Rhaegar said. "If this is the truth- and it might not be- then Grindelwald is my father and she lied all this time."

Alarissa looked doubtful. "You _look_ like your father, her husband." She said. That was true. But what if she had married someone that looked like that?

Rhaegar took a picture out of his pocket. Something he had obtained in secret.

A Durmstrang school photograph. A boy in Durmstrang robes posed. A boy with a mischievous smile. Hs studied the boy's features. Very handsome. His eyes were sky-blue and his hair was a fine golden-blond colour but his face…

It was chiselled, lean and sculptured, and he had angular, high cheekbones, a high, but not prominent, forehead and a fine, narrow mouth. Like Rhaegar's father.

Like Rhaegar.

The thought made him sick. Did his mother…. But his father had black hair too, like Rhaegar. And yet Rhaegar knew it was possible for Atlantean witches, especially ones as powerful as his mother, to know what their child would look like.

And what better way to cover this up than to marry someone who looked similar to him?

Rhaegar breathed deeply, but shakily. "I have to report to the council. I don't believe that Grindelwald has been in contact with anyone since his incarceration. I checked. This has to be something else."

He had to put it aside. The future was more important. But he could not just ignore the past, especially if it concerned his family- the ones he loved.

Never.

* * *

"You are certain?" The leading commanders boomed.

An older man- by the standards of the Atlanteans- and ancient, according to normal wizards- he was nonetheless stronger, harder, leaner and more muscular than most people much, much younger than him. He also exuded an aura of power, authority, respect and fear.

Rhaegar nodded his head, his face expressionless. "Yes, sir. I am certain."

The leading commander grunted. "Very well, then. We shall have to conclude with undercover investigations in secret."

Rhaegar frowned. "Maybe we shall have to negotiate with others to go on our behalf- the most discreet ones, that is- goblins, and other magical folk-" he did not call them beasts or creatures- his wife was one of them- "and they can investigate with us, where only they would go."

"Of course!" The leading commander said. "Problem is, how many are on our side?"

"Well in that case," Rhaegar said dryly. "Perhaps we should start making friends?"

* * *

Andreas frowned. His wife was staring blankly at the fireplace.

"Have you heard the news?" He asked. "One of our cities has been attacked. Other people think that a Dark Lord or Lady is on the rise." His tone grew worried. "I hope they can settle this soon."

Katerina said nothing. Her vision was haunted by the image of a laughing, golden-haired boy, merrily making eyes at her across the room.

And then of her son. What would become of him?

And of her daughter, Philomena? She feared for them more than anything.

And of her other son and daughter. What of her grandson?

And what of the family secret she would do anything to keep- the secret that could endanger their very lives?

* * *

 _ **Yes, yes, I know I'm so sorry I left this really late. I'm not saying the secret Katerina is desperate to keep involves Grindelwald, however.**_

 _ **Now that there's a new baby on the way, everything is at stake.**_


	9. Chapter 9

Conflict before the Storm

 _ **"My family is my strength and my weakness."**_

 _ **Aishwarya Rai Bachchan**_

Rhaegar made his way to the command centre.

They were already deep in discussion when he entered the room.

A few of them looked up but most were still talking.

"Another attack?" He asked Harald grimly. Harald nodded.

"In France." He muttered back. "A village just east of Marseilles." Rhaegar looked at him. "Atlantean?"

"You would know," he muttered. Rhaegar's lips pressed together and he looked grimmer than usual.

"You think it could be someone doing this in the name of Grindelwald- without his knowing?" Harald asked. Rhaegar looked even grimmer.

"Let's hope so," was all he said before he went forwards.

They turned to him and slowly faced the table.

"There's definitely a connection between these attacks." He said. "And they appear to be operating not only as an attack to anyone Atlantean, but anyone Muggle-born or Muggles in general." He waved his hand and an image appeared of a Muggle town. It was in flames. "The Muggles believe it was merely some storms along the coast _and_ a wildfire, but obviously, we know better."

"There are also news of other attacks off this continent," Harald came up from behind him. He waved his wand and more images came up. "Asia, the Americas, Africa… You name it." He shook his head. "Too many have died."

Rhaegar scowled. "We need a name, in the very least. We cannot ignore this. They are growing in strength it appears. How long before they attack a major city, or an entire nation?"

There was silence. "Set a trap for them," Rhaegar suggested. "Set a trap. All we need is one prisoner."

* * *

Alarissa pressed her hands against her still-flat belly and sighed. Inside, however, she felt a spark of life that was growing. _Grow please,_ she begged silently. _Grow strong, my little love. Grow strong and know that your father and I love you more than anything._

And she concentrated all she had on the tiny spark of life within her. As if she would will all she had to keep her child safe from anything and everything.

Children were rare, among her people. That was all the more reason to cherish the child- a little girl- inside her. Especially with the growing danger out there, all she was would go towards guarding and shielding her small baby, keeping her safe and happy mattered to her more than anything, along with her husband.

Silently, she embraced her own midriff. The perfect, precious child, this gift that mattered more than anything in the world to both of them. She was the most important, most perfect, precious gift. _Already, so important?_

Alarissa closed her eyes. And then a rustling wind broke her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped open. She turned.

A figure stood by the fireplace. Robed in rich but simple robes, this man was handsome beyond the human standards. His golden-blond hair was like light itself framing his face in soft waves, so bright it glittered and shimmered, his skin was like finest porcelain, flawless and smooth. His eyes were a truly piercing sky-blue so intense that it took a gasp out of mortals and one could easily tell that he had the figure that was every maiden's dream. He winked at her.

She curtsied low. "Brother." It was one of her numerous siblings.

He grinned. "I received your message." His eyes twinkled, then shone. "Congratulations." He grinned happily at her. She beamed.

"But Alarissa," his smile disappeared. "You know the risks. This child will be very powerful. What do you sense will become of her?"

"How did you know it was a girl?" She asked confused. "I have my ways," her brother smiled wryly.

She took a deep breath. "I sense… Many things. It's all so complicated but… I think she will be great. And beautiful beyond measure or imagining."

"Yes." Her brother said. "But in danger every step along the way."

She looked down.

Her brother sighed and stepped forwards to her. "Alarissa." He took her chin gently and tilted her face upwards, so their eyes met.

"Do you love this child?" He asked her.

"Already more than anything, along with my husband," she responded "my life, and everything that I am and have," she said. He nodded, as if he expected nothing less.

"Then remember," he said. "The child's bloodlines might be as much a curse as it is a blessing."

At first Alarissa thought that he meant that this child would be part-human in a world full of humans. And if they treated their own kind in such a way, for being part Muggle, then…

But then another thought occurred to her. This child…

She remembered what her husband had told her, the day before.

Ice flooded inside her like water.

 _No, he couldn't mean it, it could be…._

"There may be a solution," he said quietly. Alarissa shook her head. No, she did not want to think about that. Not that at least. Not yet.

Her brother gave her a pitying gaze before a powerful wind swept through the room and a bright flash of light appeared and he disappeared.

* * *

Rhaegar leaned back as far as he could. The damage, the carnage in France…. He could not imagine it.

And he had news of his own.

Grindelwald. What if…. What if people were to find out he was his son…

And his father? Did his father, Andreas know?

Rhaegar felt ice flood through his veins. It was still debatable, of course, but…

He had an awful, terrible feeling. Sinking right down inside him.

And his mother…

Rhaegar wasn't even sure how he felt about various members of the family. His sister he had forgiven but nothing was the same between them both. His father might not even be his father, and he felt guilt, somehow as if he was responsible, as if he had betrayed him, simply by not being his. His other sister had lost all credibility in his eyes, especially with the new information, she had suddenly lost any shine which she previously had, in the eyes of her adoring brother. He didn't love her any less, but…

He could no longer say anything good or remotely nice about her.

As for his mother.

He could not even look at the woman. Could not look at her without seeing the hypocrisy, the utter, true folly, the callousness and the selfishness in her eyes. Utterly and truly. She seemed to be all of them.

The only person he trusted left was Willamar. And _he_ was damaged.

Apart from Alarissa and his unborn child whom he would fight, kill and die to protect even unto the end.

* * *

Katerina stared at her three younger children. "Your brother?" Willamar shrugged weakly. "He hasn't contacted me in three days either."

"He's likely to be busy in the military," Athelinda reasoned. "You know that at such a time, he cannot afford any distractions." She chided.

Katerina threw her hands in the air, then dropped them limply. "I'm worried. What if-"

"Mother," Willamar spoke out. He stepped forwards. "It might be the remnant of Grindelwald's armies."

She froze and turned to stare at him.

He shrugged again. "Well, that's only the rumours. The thing is, we're being attacked. Muggles too, however they seem to think that it's a series of natural disasters."

"True," Athelinda acknowledged. Katerina shook her head.

"Your father?" She asked. Guilt welling up inside of her. "Where is he now?"

Winny spoke up. "On his way home, mistress." She squeaked.

Katerina nodded. "Any word from Alarissa?" She asked. Sigurd was upstairs asleep.

"None at all," Athelinda murmured.

Katerina looked even more worried than before. "Do you think something have happened to either of them?"

They didn't answer.

Katerina took a deep breath. "Willamar," she said pleadingly. "Could you contact them? Please?"

Willamar grimaced. "I'll try Mother. But don't expect too much success."

* * *

Rhaegar closed his eyes. They lay together in bed, her cuddled up close to his body, his arm around her, bringing her closer, a hand pressed protectively against her belly along with her hand.

They were silent.

"We're going soon," he said quietly. "Soon it will be time. And we have to get to the bottom of this, quickly, before it's too late."

His hand tightened against her own hand and her belly. Inside their baby slumbered.

The next morning Rhaegar walked silently through the halls of the military preparation camp. Only for the elite members of the squad chosen for this particular task. Finally after many days of patience and spying they had a lead.

Now it was time to act.

They wore body-armour and black entirely. Their faces were masked with light-weight helms. Many of them were polishing their weapons, loading things like rations and water bottles in packs with undetectable extension charms placed upon them. They had started training.

"What is this?!" Harald demanded. He brandished a manikin figure of a child. "This is a civilian- a child. We DO NOT HARM CHILDREN!" He glared daggers at them all. "Not unless you wish to answer for this, one way or another." He glared harder at them.

Rhaegar surveyed the troops' training. These were very select and very special indeed- they were the best soldiers around- and that was saying a great deal because the clan had _infinitely_ higher standards than any other. All Atlanteans did as a matter of fact.

They all however halted in whatever they were doing- training, packing or otherwise. They stood suddenly at attention.

Rhaegar walked slowly into the room. "At ease." He said quietly, but his presence and the silence was enough to ensure that they heard.

Rhaegar tried to hide and not to swallow his shame and guilt as he looked at them. He was- potentially- the son of the darkest, most insane and notorious Dark Lord ever to have walked the earth. He didn't deserve to be anywhere near them. He wasn't worthy to lick the floors they walked.

And it felt even worse than what he had felt in Hogwarts, knowing that he had once been a Child of the Endless Night.

And he wondered what Sigurd would feel if he ever found out the secret about his father's _experiments_.

He forced a curt nod. "Thank you everyone for coming." He looked around. "Now, as all of you know, we are under attack from a mysterious group of terrorists whom we know virtually nothing about." He gave a thin smile. "This is not necessarily the case. We have gathered intelligence. We have waited. We have analysed. We know where they often strike- what targets they prefer, the attack patterns. The times. And we have a prisoner."

Rhaegar waved his hand and an image appeared. Shaped out of mist, it showed a bound man dressed in black robes, with a silver mask on his face. His interrogators ripped the silver mask off, causing a cloud of black smoke to envelope him, stunning the man temporarily.

"It appears their leader- whoever he or she may be- is determined to keep things secret. However, this person uses fear and hints of information well. The mist is enchanted. When the mask is removed by anyone other than the wearer himself, it tampers with the wearer's mind, his memories and sanity. So, naturally this is a very clever person we're dealing with. Because everything is hard to get, even with _legilimency_ and _veritaserum_. Nothing is accessible, except for a few built-in words and images- which is a direct message to us if this person should be captured."

The soldiers exchanged dark looks. Whoever the leaders of this groups were, they were very clever, and very dark indeed.

They were up against a formidable foe.

But they would be damned if they let them get away.

They would be damned.

Rhaegar smiled frostily.

"This was the message."

He waved his hand again. Smoke poured from the man's mouth, and from his eyes, nostrils and ears. This smoke, unlike the first which was black as pitch, was purple and a voice, apparently meant to be frightening- probably succeeded with most- low and powerful, creeping and almost metallic.

" _Time runs low… Soon the secrets will out… Yours and mine, Volsungar… Soon the secrets will out… And soon I will arise…_

 _You cannot stop the tide of history…"_

The mist disappeared.

There was a silence louder than before.

Then a witch named Magda spoke. "English? Why English?"

A wizard named Thomas snorted. "Why not English? Everyone speaks English these days."

That was true. Ever since the end of the Global Wizarding War and the Muggles' Second World War the English language had dominated. Where once French, Latin, Greek, Spanish, Italian, Persian, Mandarin and German had prevailed, English now dominated. It was- in the Muggle world- because of the victory of the English-speaking Americans and the British. In the magical world, it was because of dear Albus Dumbledore- Rhaegar's own former Transfiguration Teacher- who defeated Grindelwald in the most epic duel. And in both cases, because of the British and American involvements in restarting and taking control of the global economy which had suffered enormously due to the damages done. Everyone spoke English- it was something which was grumbled on more than one occasion by numerous people who complained about the lack of job opportunities for non-English-speaking individuals.

But something was not right.

Grindelwald had always spoken with a slight Southern-German accent, partly influenced also by Eastern European. It was something Rhaegar had always noticed when travelling on campaign, missions, diplomatic business, or even on holiday. Accents. His mother, who had lived for many years in Britain (he quelled the pain and betrayal he felt when he thought of her), would have sounded undisputedly British to many natives there. But to the sharpest there was a slight trace of something Eastern European- some Hungarian and a hint of Swedish. He had a good ear for accents.

The speaker could change his voice somewhat. Make him/herself sound frightening or the opposite sex. But accents? He supposed that whoever this was, didn't seem to think a great deal of it.

Or that the accent was undisputedly English. And an accent which was very polished as some would stereotype. Very educated. It was steady with a perfect tempo, rhythm and beat. Proper and carefully measured pronunciation. Confident- spoken with ease- and precise.

 _Where had he heard an accent like that before?_

He was no stranger to it. Certainly not!

No, he had grown up with it. He had heard it all throughout his school life. Not from the middle-class or lower-class students at Hogwarts, but the more aristocratic of them- such as the Pure-bloods, or…

Or the ones in Tom Riddle's gang.

He had heard them. Heard their mocking laughter. Heard their jeers and insults. Not at him. Never at him. They were too afraid. But at many others. And he remembered. He had loathed them. For a personal reason.

He remembered the beautiful sister he had, charming, vivacious, lively and spirited. How she had laughed with them. Spoken with them. Encouraged them. And they lapped her up like a dog did its water bowl and food dish and begged for more. How she had egged them on. Her black eyes merrily mocking them. The proud beauty who had secretly mocked them along with the handsome boy with the same black eyes and hair the same pale skin as hers.

The same man who spoke such powerful, soothing words in the exact same tone, soft and soothing, calm and mild, yet powerful, persuasive, charming and strong. And menacing.

Tom Riddle.

But that was impossible surely? And yet…

* * *

 _13_ _th_ _June 1943…_

" _Strange," he said softly, but just loud enough for him to hear._

 _Riddle turned. "What?" He asked._

 _It was the first time either of them spoke directly to one another._

" _The staff gave the announcement that Hogwarts might close down," Rhaegar continued in the same tone. "The students would be sent back to their homes. You love it so much here at Hogwarts. Straight after the announcement was confirmed- you come bearing a 'culprit', whom you caught red-handed. All by yourself with no assistance," he looked at Riddle._

 _There was something unsettling- frightening even, about Rhaegar's eyes. Something frightening, alright. Something which spoke of death- of combat, of blood-shed, of masses dead, and burning villages._

" _How did you do it?" Rhaegar asked. "I'm sure I would like to know. Dumbledore too."_

 _He tilted his head to one side._

 _The two wizards- only teenagers, yet so much more, regarded each other._

 _There was something powerful, something burning brightly in both pairs of eyes._

 _Neither of them was what they seemed._

* * *

Rhaegar, if possible, felt icier than before. Tom Riddle. The boy who had been ignored, and yet closely watched by him, who had been perceived as some as his rival, the boy who had stolen his sister from them, who had shattered their family's lives, and yet who had given one priceless, irreplaceable gift in return- was the one they were looking for.

He wanted to deny it. He wanted nothing more than to deny it.

The mystery had never been solved. How did Tom Riddle manage to petrify those people? He had never been certain, but he always suspected it was him.

And then there was the new information.

' _He ripped apart his soul…'_

He had never ceased to be haunted- scarred in the deepest parts of his soul- when he found out what his former school colleague had done.

And Rhaegar was sure that Riddle was a greater evil than anyone could have ever imagined now. Forget Grindelwald. Now their problems were only just beginning.

And his wife and child were vulnerable. And his sister was still out there.

Along with her son.

Forget the mission, forget Grindelwald.

He had a new lead. And a new and more terrible danger to overcome before it arose.

* * *

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland…._

"Tom Riddle." Rhaegar said in a deathly calm voice.

This was the first time he had ever spoken about the man he had loathed.

Dumbledore looked at him through his half-moon spectacles. "You suspect Tom Riddle?"

"Don't you?" Rhaegar asked boldly.

Dumbledore heaved out a sigh and straightens.

"I have always suspected Tom Riddle," he admitted. "Ever since the students started becoming petrified, ever since Myrtle Warren died and Tom came up with a 'culprit'." He paused. "And ever since your sister left to be with him, I suspected there was more to it than a mere elopement."

Rhaegar looked at him. "It seems you've kept a closer watch on him than I have."

He sat down in the chair in front of Dumbledore.

"Everyone keeps secrets." He said. "I'm starting to hate it all- _truly hate it_. My sister intends to keep the secret about and from her son for as long as possible, and she has made me privy to it. My mother has her secrets on the other hand, which she refuses to share and I no longer trust her. Simply put, I no longer trust anyone anymore, except my wife and you."

Dumbledore raised a silvery eyebrow. "Coming from a man in the military I should expect better," he remarked. "Surely you trust your comrades, if not who can you trust?"

"Good point," Rhaegar sighed. "But even then _they_ would not trust _me_."

He took a deep breath and told him all about the meeting with Grindelwald in Nurmengard.

He dared not look at Dumbledore's face throughout the explanation and not even after.

There was- yet again!- A long pause.

"I would not take too seriously what Grindelwald said, Rhaegar," Dumbledore warned. "And your mother was very young when that occurred. They were in school together long before he showed an interest in the Dark Arts. Furthermore, he did not gain the title of Dark Lord for nothing. Always he has managed to convince and rally others to his cause, before the very end."

Rhaegar's head snapped up. "But he knew!" He almost shouted. "He knew the date around which I must have been conceived, I only needed to put two and two together! He's never met me a day in his life, and he can't have known _exactly_ how old I was, and yet the last time he saw my mother…." He trailed off.

He took a deep breath. "My parents married quickly," he said shortly. "They married far too quickly. I think I heard my grandfather, just before he died, saying something about how he never knew my parents' marriage would end up so well, the day he arranged- _arranged_ \- for my parents to meet. He also complimented himself on the choice of husband for my _mother_!" He nearly shouted again. "Why was she married off so quickly? Why did he choose? Why did he make the choice? I was born not long after!"

Dumbledore sighed but before he could say something, Rhaegar continued,

"I know I resemble my father- whether you call him my biological father or simply my legal one, I don't know. But there are ways for a mother to know what her child would look like before it is even born, much less to deduce whether the child is male or female. What if they married her off to this man because he would resemble her son when he got older? I don't share much features with Gellert Grindelwald, but I can see well enough what features we have. And my mother reacted horribly- particularly horribly- when Athelinda eloped. And now that Philomena has just announced she would be married, she is far from happy. Why? Was it because too many bells are ringing in her head? What is going on?" He finished.

Dumbledore sighed. He looked older and more worn than ever. Strange, considered he always looked regal despite his age, and impressive, always with a youthful amount of exuberant energy.

"Rhaegar," he stood. "I do not know what was in your mother's mind when she knew Grindelwald. But I do know that Grindelwald has seduced many to his way of thinking and his ideals. This would not be the first time he has deceived and convinced others. I am not surprised that he has continued this way of thinking while he is in prison, although I am disappointed. But you of all people, would know that this is not the first time he will deceive others."

Rhaegar looked away.

"I suggest," Dumbledore continued, "that you meet with your mother and speak to her about this matter. Only she can answer for what she has done. And that has never included the Dark Arts or genocide, of that I am certain."

Rhaegar's shoulders slumped. "I know. But I do not think I can trust so easily ever again. My mother… Athelinda… Philomena…. I gave everything to them, I gave myself. And yet…" His voice turned bitter. "It's as if the whole world is telling me that it's the wrong course to take."

* * *

Alarissa sat there. She gazed two of the siblings who decided to pay her a visit today- no doubt on either the idea or the encouragement of their parents, but also certainly with their own strong desire to do this in mind.

Alarissa was the youngest of fifty siblings. At times she could laugh remembering what Rhaegar's face looked like when she told him. Her people did not multiply very often- they struggled more than often to conceive nowadays- but in ages past, they had countless offspring. Alarissa, however, was born centuries well after the last child, and was considered unbearably young by her family and her people- thus stifling her enormously and causing barely-concealed frustration. Well, it shocked every mortal she had ever met. Mortals could not comprehend how _anyone_ could have so many offspring. And when she told them more about her family life, they were further astounded when she said that her parents kept perfect track of all siblings and loved them all, even making time for each and every single one of them- as if they had a smaller family.

Her eldest brother sat there. Azalon did not look pleased. Not at all. And neither did Dyllenae.

Dyllenae Kindleblaze- as she was known- was a fire fey. Rich auburn hair- truly like unearthly fire- beautiful in its red-gold shades which shone, sparked and flashed, capturing the light, tumbled down her back. He skin was creamy-pale, like a pearl or antique ivory. She had fine, delicate, regally chiselled features, including ruby lips, fine high cheekbones, and a delicately pointed, straight, slim and dainty nose. Her eyes came in varying shades of green- often emerald, but other times, jade, malachite or peridot. It always changed. Unless she was upset in which they blazed with honey-gold light. Which they did now. She looked little like Alarissa- something due to their blood and parents' power.

Azalon's skin was a creamy-tan colour that gleamed as if polished. His hair was gleaming black, but with purple streaks, along the edges, as if he had liquidised amethysts and dyed in his hair. His eyes were usually blue-green, clear as glass- same as his other siblings. He had the same delicate, fine and regal features as his family- the only quality they shared- high, slanting cheekbones, red, sensuous lips, a straight, thin, nose, and long silky lashes. Right now, his eyes were gold as well.

That meant she was in _serious_ trouble.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Alarissa had kept her mouth shut about her husband's now-doubtful paternity, but she still suspected they were here for a serious reason.

The room might have gotten icier for all she knew.

Dyllenae, the second-oldest, was a fire-creature. She was leader of the Fire-Fey. Despite the fact that- as always when she was angry- the room's temperature increased dramatically, the room seemed icier than ever.

This sister remained the longest amount of silent eye-contact with Alarissa. It made her feel enormously uncomfortable.

"Well?" Dyllenae finally spoke. "Will Alarissa accept the offer?"

Alarissa pushed down her fear. "You know as well as I, sister, that despite its benefits-"

"Spare us," Dyllenae said in a deadly-quiet voice. "Now is not the time for hesitation and attempts at side-tracking."

Her eyes flashed. The fire in the grate grew larger and burned stronger- it grew hotter and spat sparks.

"You should have thought carefully before you married the human, Alarissa. Even if he was a child of the sunken Island. You will feel pain, Alarissa. Unlike anything you can possibly imagine. But we can spare you of another pain at least. You will outlive your husband, the mortal, but not necessarily your child. Give us the child. Make her immortal. Time is running out, sister."

Alarissa supressed a shiver. "What do you mean?"

"Have you neglected your Sight?" Dyllenae sounded displeased. "Why do you not see the future as you have been taught to do, little sister? You know as well as I a great evil approaches- one that is all but unbeatable, and cannot be avoided. The might of your husband's people will not save humanity. And it certainly will not save your child, born in a cruel and terrible world."

Alarissa bit her lip and stubbornly refused to say anything.

"You know that the humans discriminate against their own kind- even to the point of torturing and murdering them. Your husband might have proved his worth, but the others?" She laughed harshly, and the fire leapt up, frighteningly, seeming to dance. Its light burned brighter. "The human world is a cruel and terrible place for a child born of two entirely different species. They will be cruel. They will be evil. Your child will have a terrible life, Alarissa."

Alarissa felt even icier than before, despite the room's boiling temperatures.

"Especially in regards to the child's blood," Dyllenae continued. " _Both_ bloodlines, as a matter of fact. Two very ancient, very powerful bloodlines, destined for greatness. The blood of the Dragon King and Merlin. And the blood of our ancient, impossibly powerful parents." Alarissa looked away.

"She will be targeted," Dyllenae continued. Alarissa wished for nothing more than for her sister to stop, but she knew she had to hear the rest out. "But give us the child, and we can promise the child will be safe."

Alarissa looked up from her hands, folded on her lap. "I thought," she said slowly. "That the changeling practice has long been abolished?"

"We can make an exception," Dyllenae said as gently as she could. "As long as the mother is agreeable and the fey themselves."

Alarissa looked away. "And the father?"

No one said anything. Long ago the fey, suffering from an amount of inbreeding due to isolation and lack of new generations, started the solution of stealing infant humans and replacing them with sickly fey offspring. The human children would then begin to take attributes of fey folk- including unearthly, ethereal beauty and grace, immortality strength, swiftness and magic. Then once they grew up, they would breed and produce new generations. Although it was much debated, it was assured that both children were raised in safe and loving homes, and what other solution did they have? Still a few decades ago, the practice had been banned.

And now Alarissa's family- or even her whole people- were begging her to give them, her- _their_ child- hers and Rhaegar's- to give her immortality and ensure a happy, safe future for all, including the child. Alarissa would not have hesitated, if not for one thing.

"What about Rhaegar?" She asked.

It was Azalon who spoke. Almost startling her because he had remained silent for so long. "Surely he will not object?" He asked quietly. "If his child is given immortality?"

Alarissa protested. "You may not consider much of mortals, but he is my _husband_ , and he is my child's _father_. Does the meaning of parenthood mean _nothing_ to you? He is the child's father. And you know that there are those that will not allow him to see our child once she becomes immortal."

The fey treasured and guarded their children more than anything in the world. They certainly would never trust mortals to be around them. Even if they were related by blood. And due to the child's grandparents' position, they would kill before allowing a mortal to see her.

"You love him too much, sister," Azalon said quietly. "And although he loves you the same, this will not end in happiness for either of you. This much we knew from the very beginning."

Alarissa swallowed and looked down.

"But now a great and terrible danger is coming- one much more powerful than you can ever face. What then? When they come for your child, what then?"

Alarissa could never answer that. She wanted nothing more than for them to be a normal, happy family, living in peace and safety, not knowing want. But she knew there was nothing she could do."

"I'm not sure yet." She said after a long while. "Give us some time. I'm not even showing yet and the child hasn't even been born." She pressed her hand to her belly and wished with all her heart to be a family- even for a little while- with the ones she loved more than anything in the world.

* * *

 _ **So sorry everyone! Struggled a great deal! I'm in Indonesia for Christmas.**_

 _ **The name of Alarissa's sister Dyllenae comes from**_ **In the Forest Fey** _ **same as her. As for exactly what she is... Well, think of her people as the Faeries of mythology- or in Cassandra Clare's**_ **Mortal Instruments** _ **Series. They rule over the mer-people, the leprechauns, nymphs and other creatures which were considered Fey. So that is what Alarissa is- but her family will be explained later. As for Rhaegar noticing Tom Riddle's accent- well, he's unlike other wizards and witches who grew up in one country and don't necessarily leave even for a holiday for most of their lives. Harry for example, never had adventures out of Britain in his teenage years and was only exposed to international wizarding world during his fourteenth year. Rhaegar was wealthy enough and he had been exposed to a cosmopolitan world-view, being exposed to other cultures and peoples from an early age. It would not be as strange to him to have, say, Chinese food, than it is to Harry, even if it is take-away. Notice they only ever ate British food? When welcoming the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students for the Triwizard Tournament, Ron refused to touch the Bouillabaisse even though Hermione said it was good.**_ **AND** _ **Ginny constantly made fun of Fleur's accent. Not Rhaegar or his family. They often worked and had holidays overseas.**_

 _ **So, Merry Christmas folks- and a Happy New Year!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Discoveries and Confrontations

* * *

 _ **"Revelations help us accept the things we need the most, expose the secrets we so desperately tried to hide and illuminate the dangers all around us. But more than anything, revelations are windows into our true selves... of the good and evil and those wavering somewhere in between. But they have the ultimate power to destroy all that we cherish most."**_

 _ **Emily Thorne**_

Dragons.

That was all Rhaegar was dreaming about recently unless the dreams were nightmares. He would much rather have dreamt about Alarissa- like he usually did, especially when they were children. Or something about their child. But lately, if it wasn't nightmares or bad memories, he dreamt about dragons.

And Merlin.

He saw a king with a sword made of moonlight, a red dragon emblazoned on his metal cuirass. He saw knights sitting on a large, round table. He saw flames, rising higher and higher, and a sorcerer stretching out his arms, to release a powerful burst of magic.

And then he woke up.

In all honesty, it was better than nightmares. If it weren't so confusing he might have tolerated them.

He knew the story. They all did. It was the reason why his family- or his 'father's' family if what Grindelwald said was true- never left Britain. They were currently the only Atlanteans left. Everyone else had gone.

But why?

Rhaegar looked over at his peacefully sleeping wife, and touched her arm gently. She stirred slightly in her sleep but didn't wake. He sighed.

If the amount of love he had for his wife and unborn child were of any indication, he knew, he just knew, he had to get to the bottom of this before they were endangered.

 _We don't live in a community,_ he thought. _At least not in Britain._ They spent half the year there.

 _If we are attacked we are on our own. And the defences for those cities and towns were just as strong, if not stronger. We are in danger._

They _would be in danger._

And if this was how wizards reacted to other human beings, how would they react to a fey and her half-human child?

Rhaegar got up out of bed. He had to do something fast.

He was having these dreams for a reason. Rhaegar wasn't a seer, but even he knew that such things meant something. He couldn't ignore them. Not unless he wanted them to get into serious trouble.

And he had everything to lose.

 _King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, the Knights of the Round Table…_

 _Merlin…._

What did they have to do with him?

He didn't know.

He couldn't ignore this any longer. The dreams, the attacks on Atlanteans, his family and whatever secrets they kept…

No, he couldn't.

He needed to see the Vǫlva. Now.

* * *

The house was a clean place, made of wood with a slight musky scent, mingling with dominating honey. It was clean and organized, but with a great deal of things lying around. There were some talismans and amulets hung around, small statuettes and figurines of powerful magical uses, symbols painted on the walls, or done in mosaics. Herbs also added to the scent, neatly cut, dried and stored in sealed jars.

The old woman was sitting on the freshly-scrubbed table with a handful of glittering, coloured pebbles in one hand, over a board that looked like a map.

"Finally," she said. "I wondered when you would be coming."

Rhaegar stepped inside the room. "My lady," he said. The woman looked up and smiled.

She is ancient. He had absolutely no idea just how old she is but she had lived for centuries now. No human ever knew what it was truly like to be immortal, unless they were in her shoes.

Underneath her hood, the woman's hooded eyes glowed like pale amber. She appeared made of the finest, thinnest paper with a hint of honey and fine, delicate lines were etched emphasizing the delicacy of her features.

"Rhaegar Artrigos," she smiled warmly. "I was waiting for quite some time."

He smiled a small smile.

"I wonder what question you will ask," the Vǫlva said smoothly. "Something about your wife? Something about your now-unborn child and its future? Something about your dreams? Or something about your own suddenly-doubtful paternity?"

Rhaegar froze.

"It's no use denying anything to you, is it?"

She gave a tiger's laugh. "No, Rhaegar. It is no use."

"Then you know what I'm here for." He moved further into the room and sat down in the chair that the Vǫlva had gestured, right in front of her.

"Actually," she said. "You only get one question."

"I want to keep them safe." Rhaegar said. "There is nothing I want more than that."

She looked up. "Very well. To know the future, one must listen to the past. Pay attention to detail. Your child will be very special, Rhaegar. Just as your nephew. She will play a great role."

Rhaegar froze. Alarissa had not told him about the baby's sex. _"She?"_

The awe, amazement and utter joy at realising he had a daughter- which made him secretly wish to jump, leap and scream with laughter or dance like he was insane, or run back home and hide his wife with her little growing belly- settled in him powerfully. He had never felt so elated, so overjoyed, apart from the time he and his wife were engaged and married, and she told him she was pregnant.

"A daughter." The Vǫlva smiled. "A great and powerful being who will fulfil the role of setting things right in this world. A creature who will set the balance between Dark and Light and restore justice in this world."

The smile vanished from his face. And although the joy didn't dissipate, he felt shock and fear.

And an increasing, icy amount of horror.

" _What?"_

The Vǫlva looked up. Suddenly she seemed more ancient than before.

"Rhaegar," she said gently. "We cannot change what is fate. I have choices. As do you. But you and your child both have a destiny that is impossible to deny. You survived and escaped from the Children of the Endless Night, Rhaegar, along with your wife. But other trials are yet to come."

"No." He said. He was amazed that his voice didn't shake and he startled himself at the sheer intensity and strength in his voice. "Not my child. _Never_ my child!"

The Vǫlva gave him a pitying gaze.

"What will happen will happen," she said softly. "But first, clear your thoughts and search deep into the past. The events of the past are clues as to what will happen in the future. The reason why our people are being targeted, your daughter's role- is all connected."

Rhaegar felt as if a black, bottomless void had opened up in the pit of his stomach with no escape.

"You can save her," she said softly. "But you must be wary. And do not give up so easily. Trust your instincts."

And Rhaegar had every intention to do just that.

* * *

The library was dusky. Why in the world did he choose Hogwarts' library?

He had no reason to do so. It was impressive, yes, but Rhaegar had seen even larger collections of arcane volumes. He wasn't a student researching on his next essay.

Memories rushed back. Of sunny days, spent indoors, because the heat outdoors was just too unbearable, pouring over dusty volumes of parchment, the smell of ink in the air, the peaceful calm presences of Willamar and Athelinda, for once, calm, the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

He shook his head.

Dumbledore had given him permission. Unlocking the restricted section area, he scanned the shelves.

What was he looking for? He scowled. He wasn't eager to pour over an over-sized volume of something he already knew, something Cuthbert Binns had droned emotionlessly and non-stop about during History of Magic lessons when he was still a student. Ugh. That was the last thing he wanted.

But he needed to learn the past.

Camelot. Arthur. Merlin. The Knights of the Round Table.

He needed to go beyond the myths- the stories and legends which he had already known as a child. He needed more.

Of course, he could have easily consulted a chocolate frog card, he thought irritably. Really, everyone knew about King Arthur and Merlin.

But he pulled out a volume anyway.

What exactly, was he searching for? He didn't even know where to begin.

 _The Prophecies of Merlin_ , the book was titled.

Well, look at that, Rhaegar thought. He actually developed an interest in this sort of thing. But this was for his _daughter_. He could _never_ be swayed from _that_.

He unsteadily took several shaking deep breaths, trying to calm the panicked thundering of his heart.

He flipped the pages.

He went through several 'prophecies.' Honestly. Was Merlin actually a seer? He never really knew. Not every mage could see the future without faulty tarot cards, crystal balls, star-charts and tea leaves.

But these prophecies came in riddles. And more frustrating riddles there could never have been.

There was something about a tree. Or two trees. Something about spinning. Something about an eagle and its nest. And something about dragons.

He froze when he read the dragons bit.

 _And the Hatchlings of the nests of broken eggs and slain dragons will awake. They will roar long and loud in their rage. And leaving their sanctuaries which they have safely hidden for so many a year, they will rise upwards and forwards and seek vengeance for their kin and the house of their fathers._

What in the world?

Dragons…. Roaring…Vengeance?

This prophecy sounded similar to the one Merlin spoke about the lion cubs, only this time it was dragon hatchlings. Rhaegar wasn't an inexperienced teenager. He knew prophecies from someone such as Merlin came in riddles. The dragons symbolised something. And he had a feeling he knew.

The dragons were the symbol of Clan Volsung. The Atlantean clan he belonged to. They were descendants of a seeress, not unlike the Vǫlva, who foretold the Doom of Atlantis. As well as some of her most ardent followers. The difference between the clans was that some headed for the continent of Europe. Some went to Africa. Others to Asia. And yet the Volsung- which was what they called their ship went to Western Europe. There, they wandered and hid foraging and scavenging for food, going here and there, desperately searching for a place to stay, to live permanently in safety. Instead they were often hunted and found, tortured and killed, while the remnants fled and ran, hiding far, far away. They did not build any permanent settlements. They practiced their unique magic in secret from other wizards and Muggles, they hid from them. Until a boy named Merlin and his sister Igraine, were left orphaned when a mob of angry wizards or Muggles killed their parents out of fear and rage.

They had gone to Britain, hearing about the island off the continent, desperately searching for a place to stay, and some food, for they were close to starvation. The Volsungar had long since discovered, before Gamp, that food could _not_ be conjured out of thin air. They were starving, cold, homeless and desperate. They were outcasts. Like the seeress predicted. But Merlin and his sister were found, pitied upon and taken in by the Founders of Hogwarts and they were taught and raised by them, and soon bridged a gap between the Atlantean Volsung and the ordinary wizards and witches of Britain due to their greatness of their power and justice. And then they bridged the gap between magical and Muggle, and Igraine had married the Muggle king Uther Pendragon. She gave birth to a son, named Arthur, who would be the High King of Britain. Igraine also had a daughter named Morgana le Fay. With the shining golden age of Camelot, where no one knew hunger, or terror, poverty or homelessness, where everyone- wizards and Muggles and magical creatures lived happily side by side- where the Atlanteans finally gained the admiration, respect and even awe by everyone, even outside Britain, and started to build permanent settlements in the manner of their forebears and practiced and added to their arts. They grew in greatness. But Camelot fell, and although the Atlanteans still had the greatest awe, admiration, fear and prestige, slowly the covetous dark wizards and witches proved to be a danger to them, and slowly they all started to leave Britain. Save for one family.

Merlin and King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and Morgan le Fay left Britain. Just before they set sail for the island of Avalon, Merlin predicted that Arthur and the rest of them would come again, when Britain needed them most, and that the age of Camelot would return once again, permanently and no one would go through such dark times again. Arthur's descendants, apparently would provide the role.

The dragons. Were they perhaps… Arthur's descendants? The symbol of Clan Volsung was the dragon. Arthur's dynasty was named the Pendragons. That meant Head or Chief Dragon. From the Welsh _Pen_ meaning 'Head' and _Draig_ meaning 'Dragon'.

Did Arthur's descendants leave Britain or….

Rhaegar's heart pounded. But there was only one family left. Why did one family stay?

The Artrigos. They were presently the only Atlantean family remaining in Britain. All the rest had left, for Germany, Scandinavia- like the famous dragon-slayer Sigurd (not his nephew), Spain, France, Austria, and even to Eastern Europe. Only the Artrigos remained in Arthur's kingdom. It was interesting that they should have that name.

Rhaegar knew Latin, Greek, Ancient Atlantean and a number of other languages. He knew the origin of the name Arthur. It came from Celtic- the people that Arthur's Muggle father descended from, when they were still divided. The _Artos_ part meant 'bear', and _Rigos_ meant 'king'.

Artrigos.

 _No_ , _no_ , it wasn't _possible_ , surely….

Was it?

Rhaegar's heart pounded harder than ever. Then why were they being hunted?

Atlanteans were constantly targeted. Grindelwald, for one, but that many had always assumed, was because they were the only ones that had military might. Ordinary wizards had no armies. No navies, no warships. No magical weapons apart from a wand.

But some knew that throughout the time Grindelwald persecuted the Atlanteans, and other dark witches and wizards before him, they seemed to be looking for something. Or someone.

Or some people.

Surely not. Everyone wanted a Golden Age, however. To usher one in. Grindelwald's idea of a Golden Age, however, was wizards to be served by Muggles.

And he continuously searched for the key.

He seemed, to Rhaegar, to have searched out every prominent Atlantean family before torturing and killing them.

And this person, these people, whoever they were behind the attacks.

Rhaegar's face went white. Now he knew.

They were after King Arthur's descendants.

And there was a great chance his family might be among them.

His child. His unborn hybrid child, sitting in her mother's womb.

He had to find them. Fast.

Rhaegar went out of the library. Now he knew what they sought for.

As for who the enemies were…. He had a very good idea.

As to his paternity….

He had to put that aside for now. Whether or not he was a descendant of King Arthur, or not, they would come soon enough. They would come for his family.

All of them.

And the fact that they were still in Britain… But was there a safe place to hide? In Germany? In France? In Spain or Austria?

They would find them. They would find them wherever they were…

He would find them.

And now, the iciest feeling Rhaegar had ever had grew deep inside him as he thought about the ones he loved and cared for the most.

And then he froze.

The Headmaster's Office. The Gargoyle lowered.

There stood a figure, utterly unrecognizable to Rhaegar. The man's- if it was indeed a man- skin and features were like half-melted wax, just as sickeningly pale. His features were distorted. And his eyes appeared bloodshot, and his hair was thinning in an alarming rate.

But he knew the walk. Somehow he just knew it. And the way the person carried himself. The way his shoulders were set in their poise. The calm, confident and casual attitude, not entirely unfamiliar to Rhaegar.

But it wasn't possible. Was it?

The last time he had seen this person was when he was young, handsome- one of the most handsome men Rhaegar had admittedly ever seen. Pale-skinned, with gleaming jet-black hair and onyx eyes. Very chiselled features, fine and handsome.

He knew the brooding look, however. And he saw it with the person he had once known and loathed. The person who destroyed his family.

The most dangerous person in the world.

Tom Riddle.

Rhaegar froze.

He did not know where Riddle went. But he needed to follow. And he needed to warn Alarissa. Warn them all, his entire family.

No matter what his feelings were to them, they were still his family.

He couldn't use the Floo Network. He did not trust the Ministry. They seemed corrupt enough to sell them off to the worst persons imaginable.

He pulled out his mirror.

"Alarissa." He whispered.

Alarissa's face appeared.

"Rhaegar," she began. He hushed her.  
"We don't have much time," he whispered. Alarissa's beautiful face went pale. "What's wrong?"

"We need to hide. Contact my family through the mirrors. Then pack any essential things, no more than that, and leave. Meet me in Kataris City."

She paled further. "Rhaegar-"

"Trust me," he insisted. Her image vanished.

He didn't have much time.

Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar knew. If he wasn't completely right, he certainly was close.

* * *

Riddle left the Headmaster's office. Armando Dippet had rejected his application. Again. Well, he would need a series of good Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers before long.

Riddle walked through the silent hallways, remembering all those times. Peaceful times, when he did not have to return to that blasted orphanage for the summer holidays.

And then there were the group of followers, who were growing even now. And her.

Athelinda. Her name left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Honestly, he wished nothing more than to merely _wish_ he could slaughter her, but he realised, that apart from him, she was the one person he never could raise a finger against.

They were close once. And walking through the same halls in which they had both walked in happier times, wounded him, though never would he ever tell that to others. Ever.

But he did wonder about the future.

He needed to get things done. Fast. He had already made his horcruxes. The Knights of Walpurgis were attacking and retreating but they would not remain undiscovered forever.

Neither would he.

He needed to gain power and he needed it fast. He needed more power than necessary. Furthermore, he needed to be as safely hidden as possible. He had to build a reputation that aurors and soldiers alike would fear- even Volsung ones. And above all else, he needed to be efficient about it. He needed efficiency, reputation, followers of the right kind of intelligence and thinking, and magical power.

And as he had already consulted Slughorn about this- not that the conversation he had with his old teacher as a teenage boy had much merits…

The other clans, he thought. Would they have the secrets to his power?

Everyone knew Atlantis was a dream-an El Dorado of magical power, knowledge, practices and secrets. During the Camelot period, things had revived somewhat, but Camelot was long gone, thanks to the poor and destructive planning of the idiot Morgause and her insane son. They merely wanted to take over. They instead destroyed things.

He couldn't afford that.

And there was something else.

He would never admit it aloud. Not even to himself. But he had another reason to be exceptionally careful.

Images of a beautiful woman with gleaming black hair, haunted his mind. A woman with very pale, flawless, milk-shaded skin, full, sensual cherry-red lips, finely-chiselled features as delicate, perfect and beautiful like a snowflake, with shining onyx eyes delicately fine, black eyebrows and lashes.

She had promised him something.

Athelinda had promised him something. When he had arrived after a long meeting with the Knights of Walpurgis in secret. She had stood up to him and demanded to know what he had been doing. Normally he would have never tolerated the slightest disrespect, but he humoured Athelinda. And she had become enraged and fumed, promising him something.

* * *

 _1949…_

 _Athelinda scowled as Tom emerged in their bedroom._

 _"Where in Merlin's name have you been?" She asked so frostily he paused._

 _"I was at work?" He answered, his handsome eyebrows raising._

 _Athelinda regarded him with black eyes, the same colour as his own, but so cold it was a miracle he stood his ground._

 _It reminded him, in a way, of her brother, the day he brought Hagrid to the Headmaster's Office._

 _"Do you really expect me to believe that?" She asked so dangerously quiet. He was impressed. Amused and impressed. A strange combination, but not unwelcome._

 _"I did tell you I was eating before I get home," Tom said sounding amused. He took off his wristwatch and placed it on his nightstand._

 _Athelinda boiled silently._

 _"I don't believe that. Or at least, I bet you must have had a lovely meal with Avery."_

 _Tom froze._

 _He turned. His wife was glaring at him._

 _"What were you doing with him?" She asked. "Are you jealous?" He asked, arching an eyebrow._

 _She sneered mockingly. "When Merlin returns to teach chimeras to dance ballet."_

 _He smiled. "Love," he said standing and holding his arms open._

 _"Don't 'love' me." She hissed. Her blood was boiling._

 _She went over to lie down on the bed. On the way she passed a massive earthenware urn filled with hot water and sealed tightly but magically allowed oxygen inside. Inside it, was an egg. Surasa's egg, which she had given Tom as a wedding gift._

 _It was still incubating._

 _She glared at him as she lay down. Her black eyes refused to look at him, as he took off his jacket and laid down next to her, drawing and arm to pull them closer and kissing her._

 _"My love," he whispered in her ear. He continued to kiss her at the cheek, close to her mouth and down the line of her throat. Athelinda might have felt a stirring but happily, she ignored it. Nearby Surasa observed pretending to be asleep. She was used to it, or rather to him doing this thing he so typically did, but not her current actions._

 _His hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown and between her legs, but she turned and gave him such a glare it startled him. And disappointed him._

 _"Love," he groaned. "Athelinda."_

 _"Don't." She hissed, eyes wide and bright with rage. "Treat. Me. Like. A. Fool." She sent him a scorching glare this time._

 _Severely disappointed, any hopes he had deflated, Tom Riddle lay back down on the bed._

"You take me for a fool, don't you?"Athelinda hissed in Parseltongue.

 _Tom's eyes snapped open. "I never said that."_

 _"You lied to me." Athelinda turned and glared at him. "And worst, you treat me as an incompetent, clueless idiot, who shouldn't be wasting her time with anything deep. Need I remind you what I am capable of? Or do you need to go back to school to find out?" She sent a withering gaze._

 _"I was given gifts and powers of knowledge that you can scarcely believe when I was born." She hissed. "The Naga that nursed me with her venom instead of milk ensured that. I was given gifts and powers that you can never hold or understand."_

 _He raised his eyebrows, curbing the urge to laugh. "Gifts?" He asked, trying to hide his amusement. "Powers? Like…" But he didn't get to finish, as his wife sent him yet another glare._

 _She snarled and lay back down on her pillows._

 _"Are you a seer?" He asked._

 _She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. "Seers are slaves to the future. They can only see and tell of what is to come. They cannot decide it." She sneered._

 _"And you can?" Tom looked and sounded incredulous. "The Naga venom gave you that."_

 _Her eyes narrowed further. "You doubt me. Very well then, I shall issue what is to come. I am carrying your child."_

 _It was as if time stopped and Tom stared at her._

 _She smiled, chillingly and leaned forwards. "It is a boy-child. But because you have treated me like a fool, then I shall make this happen: our newborn son shall be born with the image of the serpent in his eye."_

 _Tom stared at Athelinda. She smiled cunningly, a blade-like smile._

 _"And he shall be known as one of the greatest wizards in the history of the world." Athelinda smiled wider, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, any more than his did for the Knights of Walpurgis._

 _"This much, will be."_

* * *

Tom opened his eyes.

A son. That was what she promised him. Another heir of Slytherin.

One of the most powerful wizards in the world.

A boy born with the image of a serpent in his eye.

He had to find the mother and this boy. Fast.

But he suddenly froze.

He turned slowly.

Tom was at this point, just leaving the castle grounds, his hood now drawn over his balding head, where gleaming black hair once grew.

But there was someone very familiar at the other end of the grounds. Yards away from him.

A very handsome young man, handsome even by Atlantean standards. With very vivid blue eyes, sapphire-like, so deep and clear a blue, they seemed to glow even at a distance and the light was captured within them, flashing this way and that. His hair was windswept and tousled, but it suited him perfectly, black as jet and its strands brushing over his forehead, almost sweeping over his eyes with the wind. His skin was flawless, somewhere between perfectly tanned and fair. Even wrapped in a cloak and a less-than-flamboyant robe to cut the cold, he could easily tell the young man was lean, muscular and in much better shape than any athlete. His features were incredibly striking and very, _very_ familiar.

He had no doubt who it was. Rhaegar Artrigos, brother of Athelinda and uncle to his son.

And he was gazing at him with an unreadable expression more frightening than even Dumbledore.

Tom had never been one to fear anyone. But this person likely knew his secrets, and invulnerable as he was….

He recognized Tom.

He knew he was very different to the handsome, teenage boy Athelinda knew in Hogwarts. But he recognized him.

Rhaegar slowly walked towards him. "Hello, Riddle," he said softly.

Tom forced an icy, blade-like smile. "I am called something different now."

Rhaegar regarded him slowly. "Yes, I'm sure you would be," he said quietly and slowly as if confirming something he already knew.

Tom slowly felt ice creep up upon him. His smile, however, went wider. "I didn't think you'd recognize me."

"Some people wouldn't," Rhaegar said quietly. "But others might see something that is hidden deep inside for so long, finally become all too obvious. There are things about you that would never change, Riddle. And some things never did."

The two stared at each other for a very long time.

"Commander of the Armed Forces I heard," Tom said softly. "Congratulations. We always knew you would make it to the heights of success."

"The heights of personal success are one thing," Rhaegar replied. "Continuing to make our peoples flourish and thrive is another, as well as weeding out any threat or any sign of rot among the growing fruit." He smiled a slight smile that looked very dangerous and his blue eyes looked very dark. "A threat I know for sure will be stamped out. I have reason to believe it so."

Tom regarded him for a while. "Do you?" He asked quietly.

Rhaegar smiled. He did not radiate any sign of fear of any kind. "Do you know of Merlin's prophecies?"

His eyebrow rose a bit. "I am familiar with a few of them, yes."

"Then you must know the Prophecy about the Dragon Hatchlings awaking." Rhaegar said in a tone that lurked like a predator in wait. "' _And the Hatchlings of the nests of broken eggs and slain dragons will awake. They will roar long and loud in their rage. And leaving their sanctuaries which they have safely hidden for so many a year, they will rise upwards and forwards and seek vengeance for their kin and the house of their fathers._ '"

Rhaegar stepped forwards. "The interesting thing about prophecies: you try to avoid them, to stop them from happening. And in the end all you do is simply build a trap for yourself. I am not a superstitious person, Riddle, but I think only a fool would doubt the words of a mage as great as Merlin. If people didn't want the dragons to get upset, surely they shouldn't have started killing them?" He gave a very predatory smile.

"The Dragon Hatchlings will awake." Rhaegar said quietly. "And I have been given assurances that they will, sooner rather than later." His blue eyes never left Tom's.

Tom nodded, trying to seem expressionless. "In that case I really wish that time would come." He said. "I'm sure we all wish for Camelot," Rhaegar said. "But some people think Camelot was built by blood. And blood was only ever shed to defend it, not to build it." He tilted his head. "Goodbye, Riddle. And thanks."

Tom was confused for once. "For what?"

Rhaegar now looked undoubtedly menacing. "For teaching me the importance of family. And betrayal."

And he waved his hand.

* * *

Tom saw the world around them spin into darkness. But before he had time to realise- and curse- that Rhaegar, an accomplished occlumens had not only dared to do something to him, but had caught him unawares, he fell to the ground as his vision cleared.

"Was this where you had it?" Rhaegar snarled. Now he looked at Tom with such absolute loathing he was worse than a beast like a chimera, a nundu or even the dragons his clan the Volsungar adored.

"Was this where you sired her son, my nephew? Was this where you practiced your filthy arts, and concocted abominations? Was this where you grouped your dastardly followers into scheming and plotting to slaughter any innocent that you could find so you could weed out King Arthur's descendants and use them to create a Camelot of your own sick and perverted ideals?" Rhaegar roared as he waved his hand. Tom felt himself being launched off the ground before landing several metres away on the grass. "Tell me, Riddle, look there and see."

Rhaegar suddenly apparated next to him, he grabbed Tom by the scruff of his neck- or robes- and yanked his head roughly in the direction of a cottage.

His cottage. The one he shared with Athelinda, years ago.

They were near the sea. Which would explain the strong wind he realised was belatedly tugging his robes in all directions.

"You filthy bastard," Rhaegar snarled. "It was you, wasn't it? It was you all along. You were behind the attacks. You ordered the families that bore the slightest connection to King Arthur, killed."

Riddle growled at him. "I do not know what you mean."

"DON'T," Rhaegar roared. "LIE!" He waved his hand into the air and Tom once again found himself flying and landing on the ground, anything but softly. Rhaegar apparated again by his side.

"I know it was you." He snarled. "You might have been able to change your face, you might have been able to hide your sorry arse, you might have even been able to disguise your voice in the damned message left in your follower's brain just before it killed him, but you can never hide who you truly are, Riddle. I know it was you."

Tom drew his wand, quick as a flash, but Rhaegar, an experienced soldier and an expert dueller to say the least, disarmed him, causing the yew wand to fly.

Rhaegar laughed harshly. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

He grabbed Tom by the collar and drew him up, slamming him onto a nearby tree.

"Yet, you're not strong enough to realise the absolute truth." He whipped out his own wand and Tom Riddle howled when he felt a searing, burning pain on the side of his face. "It's a pity we never had this conversation when we were younger, isn't that right?

"I'm here to tell you that you've failed. The prophecy will be fulfilled. One way or another. I just want you to know." Rhaegar whispered.

"My wife and son." Riddle rasped. "Where are they?"

Rhaegar froze. "What?"

"My wife and son." His reddened eyes fixed on Rhaegar. Rhaegar looked at him and threw his head back and laughed.

"Does it matter?" He hissed. "The boy doesn't even know your name, Riddle. He will never know your name. And she is no longer your _wife_."

"He might not know this name," Tom said. "But he will remember a name which wizards fear even to speak. _And_ she is _still_ my wife. Our marriage was never ended. My wife will never escape me. And my son will know my name, I promise you. Just not _this_ name."

He summoned his magic and used a blast to throw Rhaegar away. However, the commander must have guessed something like this was about to happen, because he shielded himself from the blast, even though they were separated.

He was not a typical ordinary wizard, even if he was not of Atlantean descent. He was not helpless without his wand, even if he depended on it more than Atlanteans. And furthermore, his wand had flown back into his hand.

Tom struck the first blow. Rhaegar warded it off. Soon, they started duelling, more aggressively, harder and faster than any other duel, both fuelled by their mutual loathing of each other. If anyone had stumbled upon them, it would have been difficult- if they could deduce anything from the speed of the duellers, the flashes of light, smoke and whatever else- who was more terrifying- the handsome man or the deformed one.

Rhaegar's face was contorted with loathing and rage. He didn't let his rage blind him, however. He could have confronted Tom Riddle with many things. But instead, he chose to keep to himself many things- including little Sigurd's name and that he, and Rhaegar's yet-unborn daughter, were the ones of the prophecy. And that they were all of King Arthur's blood.

Well, maybe not Rhaegar or his daughter, if what Grindelwald said was true.

Rhaegar caused a flash of golden light to appear before him, while something similar to lightning was sent flying to his very direction. Rhaegar pushed it aside, causing steam. It was now raining. The classic setting for a duel, he might have thought if he wasn't so busy. He fought with a wand in one hand, but was not dependant on it. In fact, he also used wandless magic and his spells were non-verbal.

Riddle however, was undeterred. A series of powerful, lightning-fast strikes- jinxes, hexes and curses all appeared, but Rhaegar was a powerful duellist to say the least. Loathing fuelled both wizards and lent them enough strength and energy.

Smoke appeared in front of Rhaegar just as Riddle sent several jets of blue, yellow and red light towards him but Rhaegar dodged it, and he was shielded from Riddle's view by the smokescreen spell. He then sent more curses and hexes towards Riddle, before Riddle conjured up _fiendfyre_.

A gigantic serpent hissed and coiled, its evil eyes glared, full of hate at Rhaegar, but he merely gritted his teeth and caused a force of energy to sweep it aside. More lightning came from Riddle and Rhaegar counterattacked with whilst being able to deal with the _fiendfyre_ by causing a stream of water, the size of a river, to rise from the sea and coil around it. Something like fragments of light flew towards Rhaegar from Riddle while the serpent wrestled with the water which seemed to choke it, depriving it of oxygen, both literally and figuratively as fire always needed oxygen and snakes can be strangled. Then Rhaegar pulled apart the force of the water, and took control of Riddle's fire serpent, causing the water to fall on Riddle while the serpent, now controlled by Rhaegar, flew towards the master that conjured it.

Riddle rose his hands up into the air. Smoke and light flew around him and the raindrops formed one collective water-shield that held firm while the fire stormed and raged towards him. Rhaegar pulled back and sent a series of hexes, jinxes and curses towards Riddle while also sending harmless sparks around him, making Riddle unable to distinguish which was actually harmful and which were merely distractions. A duel was no time for legilimency or occlumency, if one didn't already cast the spells before.

Furthermore, Rhaegar threw streams of light at him, and the raindrops solidified into giant waves crashing into him, extinguishing the few spells he had managed to cast, before casting a spell which had Riddle sprawling on the ground, his wand a few feet away from him, bound with ropes.

Panting for breath, Rhaegar glared at Riddle.

"Yield! You can never beat me, _Riddle_." He uttered the name like a curse.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled over them. Like something out of a story.

"You. Have. Lost," he hissed. Riddle did the unexpected- he laughed.

"Oh, I don't think so." He hissed. "I've only just begun. And Riddle is no longer my name. You don't think that I would keep as filthy a name as my Muggle father's would you?"

Rhaegar regarded him silently. "No, I didn't think you would. But if you have any dreams of becoming Dark Lord, I think you can kiss them goodbye. You will never come into contact with my nephew. That boy will never be regarded as your son. You will end up in Azkaban."

"Oh, I don't think so," Riddle snarled. "A Dark Lord will never set foot into a common, stinking place such as Azkaban. And I _am_ a Dark Lord."

Then he extended a finger and in flame- which had to be much harder than doing it with a wand- he wrote the words, Tom Marvolo Riddle, in capitals. His hand waved and the letters made a swooshing sound, like fire leaping suddenly, as they rearranged themselves.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

Voldemort, Rhaegar thought. Athelinda did claim to hear a Dark Lord's name down in that cellar. Someone she could not recall being mentioned in the history books. But she also recalled them calling Riddle, 'my Lord.'

Voldemort. The name meant _Flight of Death_ in French. And for someone who had committed the abominations beyond belief, of creating more than one horcrux, Riddle must have loathed the idea of death more than anything.

Or feared it.

But Rhaegar knew he couldn't kill him. There was no way he could, not with so many horcruxes. He might not be vulnerable, but Rhaegar had no intentions on exhausting himself trying to kill someone- or something- that can't be killed by spells or blows.

No, not Tom Riddle. Voldemort. "You will never beat death," Rhaegar warned. "Seek to conquer it and you shall find yourself in its mercy. You've only made yourself more vulnerable. One day something small, something insignificant in your eyes will topple you. You will not have the adversaries of the Dark Lords and Ladies of old. Perhaps you will grow more powerful than them. But in the end, if I do not bring you down, it will not be what you consider a foe deemed worthy of the great mages of old." He looked icily down at Riddle. "You will fall."

Riddle stared at him incredulously and then smirked. He would have laughed, Rhaegar knew it, but the truth was that Rhaegar terrified him.

"Convince me," he smirked. "I will be greater than they, and I will. And my son will join me- or fall."

Snarling harsher than ever, Rhaegar, pointed his wand directly at Riddle's chest, and his hand which grasped his throat started to glow from within.

" _You dare threaten him?!"_ Rhaegar roared. "I do not threaten him," he rasped, trying to breathe. "I merely state the truth. With me, he thrives and becomes one of the greatest sorcerers in history. Without me, he falls. He cannot escape his own destiny."

"You," Rhaegar said, looking at him with loathing. "Do not decide his destiny."

"No," Riddle rasped. "His mother did."

Rhaegar stood stunned. "Is this some sick joke?"

"I thought your sister would have told you everything," he whispered. "She predicted that our son would be born with an image of a serpent in his eye, didn't she? Did she prove to be correct?"

Dread filled Rhaegar further.

"She also said that he would become one of the greatest sorcerers in history," Riddle continued, inching his chin higher in a futile attempt to avoid Rhaegar's magic. He chuckled.

Of course Rhaegar knew about those predictions. He just didn't think that Riddle would actually believe it. Riddle had never seen his own son. He and Athelinda, Alarissa, his mother, father, Willamar and Philomena did their utmost best to keep Sigurd away from any stranger's eyes. They took extra precautions. So even though he might have had spies….

Rhaegar's fist tightened around Riddle's throat. "Clever, aren't you?" He hissed. "But you were the one responsible for everything. Don't you even try to deny it!

"You were the one who organized the attacks, slaughtered innocents and captured and tortured families whom you thought might be remotely related to Arthur. You were the one who destroyed my family and turned my own sister- _my own sister_ \- against me in particular and against us all in general. And you were the one that at least knocked her back to her senses." He gave a crooked smile. "But not without taking the life and fire out of her, and never giving it back."

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "I took nothing from you or your sister. She came to me, and she came willingly. Do you blame me for the 'mistakes' she made in her lifetime? I never forced her."

That was true, Rhaegar silently admitted. And admittedly, Athelinda's flaws were what spiralled out of control. All Tom had to do was to charm his way into her life, her mind and her reasoning and play on her dreams, just as a puppeteer pulls the strings and she danced to his tune.

"As for the deaths of those innocents, yes I admit I played something. In fact, I pulled the strings openly in this one. But am I the only one? I did what I had to do. This is a cruel world, Rhaegar Artrigos. Surely your time as one of the Children of the Endless Night would have taught you that?" He smiled thinly as Rhaegar looked coldly at him.

"Tell me, Rhaegar Artrigos, you of all people, have always championed the rights of others, always claiming that it is not birth that defines us, and that we are all equals. In truth, are we? The Ministries wouldn't say so. Your clans wouldn't think so. The Muggles would not agree- not if they knew about our existence. Even without knowing that witches and wizards are more than folktales, they too will never see each other as equals. A man with dark skin is lower than one with white skin. A woman is lower than a man. And it is not merely some that believe so, but many of them- even the so-called Allied Forces during their Second World War. Everyone has prejudices, Commander Artrigos. Some prejudices are just more refined, that's all. We do not discriminate based on something as stupid as skin colour, when our organs remain the same, nor do we believe that a woman is stupider and weaker than a man. After all, four Founders- two male, two female, for instance. No, what we do is essential for our survival. Do you think that wizarding society can survive this long? We are already going into decline, Artrigos. Just ask your sister. The steam engine that takes students to Hogwarts is a Muggle machine, merely modified through magical means. Muggles have learnt how to fly. When was our last ground-breaking innovation? And yet we still continue, and the Ministries, and even other wizards and witches are content to believe that everything is fine and we are not slowly declining. Ask yourself if this isn't true."

It _was_ true. But Rhaegar would never admit that to Riddle.

"The only one with such innovations are the clans. And other magical folk- goblins who possess the skill to craft metalwork of such artistry and power, giants with their strength and near-invincibility. The Fey with their beauty, nature power and grace-" Rhaegar went cold again, if possible, because the way Riddle smiled made him certain that he knew about his marriage to Alarissa. "-Vampire immortality. Merfolk and their music and water magic. And even the Muggles who are rising high and quickly dominating the world with their clever inventions, their numbers and their lack of hiding. And what do we have? Even your people, Rhaegar are in hiding, why do you think not even ordinary wizards and witches are allowed to enter your acropolis city Kataris, even though you are shining at the height of innovations and powerful magic?"

"Only because of people like you," Rhaegar's crooked smile returned. "Who hunt and slaughter innocents. Why should we share any of our powers and knowledge with people that want to hunt and kill us?"

"And how many _innocents_ have you killed Rhaegar?" Tom Riddle said softly. "How many Muggles, magical folk, Atlanteans and ordinary wizards and witches have you killed? How many have you killed in the name of power, glory and strength? Your former 'teachers' taught you to kill without mercy. To spare was a weakness. And the weak were always weeded out among the strong even in their children's numbers. You needed to kill to survive. To plunder what you needed- to rob and kill because your rations were short. To kill anyone who might kill you. When they put you in that 'play-pen' with another child, your own age, did you hesitate? Didn't you kill when they gave you the order? I think we both know the answer, since you're standing in front of me. How many young boys and girls did you brutalise and pound to death during your time amongst them? How many mothers and fathers did you make childless? How many orphans did you make out of children, the same age as your younger siblings then? How many cities did you set aflame? You see? Do you really think you're so different from me, _Commander_ , or from Grindelwald? What you did, you did in the name of survival- committing a lesser evil for a _Greater Good_."

Rhaegar could throw up if he could. What he felt before…Riddle knew about this, and he was certain this didn't come from Athelinda, she knew nothing about his experiences as a child-soldier. And he would know if he was using legilimency. But he was right. Riddle knew about the 'play-pen'- the large cage where children, captured ones, like he was, was forced to fight against each other for the amusement of their captors. It was gladiatorial fighting, no doubt about that. It was killed or be killed. And Rhaegar had killed there. He and whoever else who survived, had to, in order to survive. It was killed or be killed. One way or another- if it wasn't your opponent, and you refused to kill the other youth, the organisers would have you ripped apart, burnt alive like the witches of old, or impaled- whatever. And all you thought about in there was surviving. To get home to Mother, Father, Sisters and Brothers. About killing to survive on the meagre, poor rations they gave you. On minimalizing the amount of tortures, by being as brutal as they wanted to turn you into. By taking orders without question. By killing your victims quickly, otherwise, they would torture the victims and force you either to watch or take part in it.

But how did he know? That was the rational part of Rhaegar's thinking which usually dominated his thoughts, except now he was frozen. Of course, afterwards, one would realise that was exactly how Tom Riddle drew Athelinda into his hands. But today he was trying too hard.

Still, Rhaegar wasn't unaffected. He remembered it all.

* * *

 _January 1929…_

 _The Cage…. Or the 'Play-Pen' as some of their captors sneeringly told them, mocking them with jeers and roars of laughter. Where Rhaegar saw young boys and girls pitted against feral beasts- Chimeras and Manticores and the occasional Nundu or Lethifold if their captors were being particularly sadistic._

 _Or even a dragon. Anything with appetite and an overwhelming odds- not too overwhelming. Not even grown wizards would be able to face the worst._

 _They just wanted the fun to see the little boy and girl dodge and scream and desperately try to wrestle onto the last bit of life, before whatever was left of them- if there was anything- was dragged away after the beast was herded back into its cage._

 _He saw a young boy battle a Quintaped. Shoved inside the holding pen- a cage where he could easily see through the bars, Rhaegar could only watch and pray desperately for the young boy to survive, somehow._

 _The young boy had dark hair. He looked like a boy that would learn from his mother on her kitchen bench, revising his letters and basic maths, running outside when the sun was out, playing Quidditch and soothing his little brother or sister's tears whenever he or she grazed their knee, or ended up bullied by the neighbouring children._

 _Rhaegar watched as the Quintaped roared and… He didn't see what happened next. Only years later, did he learn that that boy did indeed survive. But then, he thought that his life was gone, dashed, he would never grow up, never go to school and be awarded best potioneer of his year, never win the Quidditch Cup, never meet a girl, never fall in love, get married and introduce his firstborn to his parents…_

 _Rhaegar swallowed._

 _The next few children certainly didn't survive. He could still hear the dying screams._

" _Alright folks!" A thin, weedy man with rotting teeth stepped up. The ringmaster as he called himself. "Here's the nex' prize. We'll not be pitting them against beasts just yet, though." They collectively groaned. "Instead, we'll be pitting them agains' each otha!"_

 _The crowd gave an approving roar._

 _Rhaegar saw the door of his cage slide up._

 _There were no monsters. Just another boy, scrawny and scared, but angry and determined._

 _No there was room for only one monster- the one that kills the victim._

* * *

Rhaegar snapped back into the present without seeming to leave it. He narrowed his eyes.

"You know nothing of the greater good, bastard." He whispered. "You don't fool me. You don't justify your actions. I don't deny I did those things as a child. When I was captured and tortured, brutalised among other things. But given the chance, if I had nothing to return to, nothing to cling onto, I would have never allowed myself to do any of those things. If I could go back, I never would." _Save for one reason,_ he thought, remembering Alarissa and their baby.

"I spent the rest of my life, and I forever will, trying to amend for whatever I've done, even though I was in captivity and people often said I had no choice, I still do. Without many of my loved ones I would have become insane. I became a soldier not so I could feel the rage of war again, but to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Even if I have to die to stop the slaughters, I won't allow any more people to be sacrificed, simply to boost a filthy, deluded ideology, or someone's own ego, like yours or mine." His blue eyes glared, boring into Tom's.

"Then you're a fool," Tom whispered. "And you are weak."

Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh. "A weak fool who defeated you," he reminded. "I defeated you and I am more than ready to do it again."

"Maybe, if the problem is not your little sister." Riddle whispered.

Rhaegar froze. Athelinda? _No, no! It can't be!_

"Little Philomena, isn't that what she's called?" Tom whispered. "The Selwyns have been particularly helpful, like so many others you will never know. Philomena. Perhaps you must contact her."

And Rhaegar felt his whole world come crashing down just as it did when his other sister left and he separated from Alarissa, without knowing that he would see her again.

* * *

 _ **I'm sorry for the length of this chapter. I also have something going on in my family and this is a time when some may feel threatened but we have to stick together to work things out.**_

 _ **I don't think that Harry was the first person that Tom Riddle pulled the flame-letters-rearranging spell on. I don't think he actually loves Athelinda. If you haven't read my prequel**_ **Lady of Serpents, _don't be shocked. Sigurd was sired by Tom Riddle._**

 **Disclaimer: _I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe, and I don't own anything here, save the Atlanteans idea, the Artrigos family, a number of friends, the clan. Even the Fey is from mythology and folklore, as are the Arthurian legends- only I made Igraine and Merlin siblings and Morgana isn't so bad. So I tried to reconcile canon- cause I'm not going to change that- that's not my place, even though I love AU fics- with my own plotline and character development in the series._**

 ** _I know J.K Rowling said that Voldemort never loved a girl- not even Bellatrix- and the idea of Voldemort as a father is scary- but is Voldemort really a father? I know Sigurd- if and when he finds out the truth would never consider that. He isn't a real father. All he did was sire Sigurd, and technically, that's it. Even Darth Vader is by far, a more fatherly figure. And Valentine Morgenstern from the_ Mortal Instruments _series, is to Clary. In absolutely no way is Voldemort more than a biological sire._ NOT _a father._**

 ** _As for what he feels for Athelinda- well, it may be the closest thing he feels to loving anyone or anything, even in regards to his horcrux, Nagini which she gave to him as an egg. He even gave her Slytherin's locket to wear- his horcrux. Romantic in a twisted, insane way. But it's more like he owns her, rather than he loves her. He may still- foolishly- hope for a cosy reunion, though._**


	11. Chapter 11

_**"You get in the biggest fight with people you care about the most because those are the relationships you are willing to fight for the most."**_

 _ **Unknown.**_

Family.

As much as Rhaegar tried to cut them out, as much as he tried to convince himself that whatever emotional connection they have to him was destroyed by their treacherous betrayals, he simply could not ignore the fact that the first signs of danger, he would instantly bolt.

Rhaegar could never allow any of them to suffer.

Riddle smirked. "Your very own weakness. That and your creature of a wife."

Rhaegar gave out a roar, and slammed Riddle's head into a nearby tree.

"Where is she?" He hissed.

"Does it matter?" Riddle rasped. "You will never see her again. Not unless you submit to what I say."

Rhaegar stared at him. "You're _blackmailing_ me?"

Riddle's smirk grew wider.

"Do not look so surprised, Rhaegar Artrigos. I didn't think I would see you so soon. I didn't think that you would beat me- which was a foolish mistake on my part, especially as I've seen you in school. But I had wanted to see you for a long time. I also have followers. And I learn from my mistakes."

Rhaegar froze. "The Selwyns," he whispered. "They are on your side."

"My side has not yet made itself known." He whispered. "But soon, and yes, thousands more will come."

Rhaegar swallowed. "Not if I can help it. And they are working for you, aren't they? At least some of them."

Riddle's eyes glinted. It wasn't just the whites, Rhaegar saw that reminded him of blood. But the irises. They were turning the colour of blood.

"You bastard," Rhaegar whispered. "You think you can defeat me? One way or another, it will be you who will fall, I swear it."

Riddle sneered. "That sort of talk won't save your sister, Artrigos."

Rhaegar's hand around Riddle's throat glowed brighter from within. His eyes flashed. "Maybe. But you will still fall."

"I doubt it," Riddle sneered. "Now are you going to keep talking to me, or are you going to do what your instincts tell you to do and save your sister, or are you going to stall?"

Rhaegar looked at him with open loathing. "You turn my sister against her family, you destroyed her relationships with everyone, you slaughter millions of innocent people- _our_ people! And then you take my younger sister hostage?" His eyes flashed brighter. "I may not be able to kill you, he whispered, but I can certainly make you _suffer_ and wish for death."

Rhaegar whipped out his wand, and knocked the yew wand out of Riddle's hand. _"Crucio!"_ He roared.

He didn't care that it was illegal. He didn't care if this turned him into someone- or something- he could never be. He wanted Tom Riddle to feel pain- the worst pain.

Riddle screamed as pain ripped and stabbed him, seemingly, to shreds. Rhaegar kept going, before he saw one thing.

Alarissa. He saw her face in his mind.

* * *

 _February 1945…_

 _Hatred coursed through him as he looked at the figure of the man who had enslaved him as a boy, who had tortured and brutalised him, forced him to fight and to butcher thousands of innocent people._

 _He held his stolen wand aloft as he shouted,_ 'Crucio!' _The thin, wiry man with a permanent sneer on his face screamed like a rat being ripped to shreds as Rhaegar tortured him._

" _It's different, isn't it?" Rhaegar snarled. "When you're on the receiving end of the stick." He uttered the curse again and the man writhed in agony. "Tell me, do you_ enjoy _squealing?"_

 _He was about to torture the man again, when Alarissa came running up to him._

" _Stop!" She cried out desperately._

 _Rhaegar paused, but his eyes flashed and he did not take his eyes off his once-tormentor-now-victim._

" _Rhaegar," she said sternly. "Don't ever do this."_

 _He stood still as a statue._

" _He abducted, sold us, tortured us and turned us into monsters," Rhaegar said in a deadly quiet voice. "He kidnapped you, he whipped and chained you in iron! Why should I spare him? Who would spare him?"_

" _Because you are a man, not a monster," Alarissa insisted. "A man. Give yourself restraint. The will to rise above the rage. A beast would charge blindly, chew off its own limbs to escape a trap, it would charge forwards in its rage with the aim of ripping the prey to shreds, even if a spear or an arrow gets to it before it reaches its target- it will never see. You are not a beast. You are not a monster. You are a man. And you are much better than this."_

* * *

Rhaegar halted the curse.

Riddle lay, still restrained by the ropes, breathing heavily, his eyes darting with pain.

"Where is my sister?" Rhaegar asked in a deadly quiet voice. Yes, he was disturbed. More than disturbed. He was horrified, shocked and disgusted that he should do this again, but Riddle did not need to know that. And he needed to know that Rhaegar was capable of doing a great deal more than he could have ever possibly imagined to save his family- and masses of innocent people.

"I'll repeat once more, Riddle and only once. Where. Is. My. Sister?"

Both men looked at each other with mutual hatred. It seemed to Rhaegar, that although they were technically men, the lines between man and monster were starting to become blurred, though hopefully, not more.

"The Selwyns took her," Riddle hissed. "On my orders. You honestly think that with Grindelwald gone, no one would remember the old ways- the ways which separates the pure from the tainted, the worthy from the scum of the earth? There are others, Artrigos, others who would achieve what Grindelwald failed. Others who would rise higher and shine brighter than he could have ever possibly dreamed of. By the time I am done, they will never even remember Grindelwald's name. Nor anyone else's. Tom Riddle is dead." He spat his own name as if it were the most loathsome thing in the universe. "I am VOLDEMORT!"

The surge of energy nearly took Rhaegar by surprise, had he not had the slightest inkling something was coming.

He felt it as soon as Tom Riddle- no, _Voldemort_ \- began to speak.

A slight gathering of energy in the air.

So he shielded himself- and fast.

But the ropes binding his adversary burnt away and Voldemort stood.

"Give me your answer, Rhaegar Artrigos," he said calmly. The dark wizard restrained his passionate hatred and impulse to destroy Rhaegar. In any case, although he would never in an infinite amount of years admit to that, he would have never been able to defeat him. "Your sister alive…. Or dead."

They stared at each other for a long time.

Even Rhaegar knew it was no use fighting. "What are these _demands_?" He asked softly.

"The next generation of Pendragon descendants." Voldemort answered. "Have them delivered to me tomorrow night. And your sister, and my son, Rhaegar Artrigos."

Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh, ignoring the icy fear and panic rapidly building up within him. "That will take centuries to find, if ever. And there is believed to be more than one family descended from Arthur Pendragon. If you haven't killed any of them, that is."

"Don't play coy with me, Artrigos." Voldemort replied. "You know who the descendants are, even if you don't do as much as whisper them to yourself or in another's ear. Your friend Harald can attest to that. He's not as discreet as you."

Rhaegar felt his horror mounting. "What are you talking about?"

"Harald's wife Elisabeth and consequently, his son Alexander are two of the Pendragon descendants. They should be enough. I want them brought to this exact location, nine o'clock, tomorrow. Them and Athelinda and my son."

Rhaegar could not speak. Not for a moment. But somehow he miraculously found his voice. "He is not your son." He managed to say.

"I beg to differ. He is an heir of Salazar Slytherin. As am I."

Rhaegar went very still. "So you _did_ open the Chamber of Secrets."

Riddle- no, Voldemort- he had to remember that- laughed. "So you _did_ suspect that. I always knew, somehow. But yes, you get my meaning. I want my son and his mother delivered to me at the exact same time, as well."

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "If not," Voldemort continued. "Then I am afraid you will still regret it for the rest of your life, and I'm certain others will as well, if they survive."

"Those who threaten us, often do not survive and neither are the ones who attack," Rhaegar said, more dangerous than ever.

"Neither are the ones who oppose me," his enemy said quietly. He gave a thin, blade-like smile.

And then he disapparated.

Ice and dread flooded Rhaegar, and soon they would be replaced with heat and panic. He needed to find Philomena. And he needed to contact Harald. Fast.

* * *

Jason Selwyn left the ministry.

Alright, so things didn't go so well.

In truth, his fiancé's family despised him, at the very least. He knew he should have asked her parents for her hand in marriage and introduced himself to the rest of the family, but he was too frightened, admittedly.

But keeping it at arm's length had probably been worse.

When asked about her famous, legendary brother's opinion, Philomena had replied. "He would rather get Dragon Pox."

 _Duh, he had made a total mess of things_ , as the American diplomat in the ministry would say.

He entered his home, his parents currently, probably out at another social event. He did not begrudge them that.

He frowned, realising that the House-Elf was currently not present, and was about to call her to take his coat when he felt something grab his collar and slam him against a wall.

It was still dark, somewhat. His home did not have the proper Atlantean lighting and energy that Philomena had grown up accustomed to- even for the wealthy that was absurdly hard to gain, and costly, though easier to maintain, better and safer than candles.

But he could make out the outline of a powerful, lean and muscular young man, rather tall, very handsome and strong. Very, very strong if his grip and strength was anything to go by. And by the way he was being gripped, Jason thought that he was only using a miniscule amount of his strength.

"Who-" he managed to croak out. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I have nothing you can possibly want." A lie, but he wasn't as rich as, say, the Malfoys and the Blacks, though his parents were.

"Save your snivelling, Jason Selwyn," the voice was not something he had ever heard before. "Where is she?"

"Who?" He croaked.  
"My sister," the voice said again, before the man's face came into the light.

It was Rhaegar Artrigos. Jason's eyes widened, and his face became very, very white. Bloodless, in fact.

"Wh-What is this?" He managed to squeak. "Wh-wha-"

"Enough games, Selwyn." Rhaegar ordered. His blue eyes shone deadly beams into Jason's soul. He was tall, elegant and intimidating, without ever having to extensively groom himself. "Where. Is. My. Sister?"

Jason had never been so afraid. He had never heard anyone sound so dangerous before. He swallowed which was a struggle. Surely Rhaegar would never harm him? Especially not now that he was about to be married to-

"Answer me!"

Jason jolted a little at the sound of Rhaegar's voice.

"I- I don't know," he squeaked. "She went out with my mother. Long before I arrived. They said they were buying her wedding dress-"

But they would not have needed to go to an ordinary shop. Dresses were designed- custom-made by known names in fashion, for the wealthy. And if Jason was to arrive this late- and he probably usually did- why go out?

His grip tightened. "You're either lying or a fool," he said, before brandishing his wand and silently summoning Veritaserum seemingly out of thin air. He grabbed Jason's nose- none-too-gently- and Jason felt like it was being ripped off his face. He opened his mouth to gasp and the bottle tipped itself in. Rhaegar struck him in the chest, causing him to gasp, inhale some of the liquid and splutter.

"Where is my sister?" He repeated.

"She went out with my mother," Jason said in a dull, monotone voice. "I don't know what for. She left sometime about midday and contacted me using the fire."

Rhaegar nearly cursed out loud. Jason was telling the truth. The dress-shopping was just a guess. That meant that Philomena could be just about anywhere, in any condition. She could be safe or she could be in as much danger as Riddle said.

No, Voldemort. The boy he had vaguely known in school was dead- destroyed by a monster- no, an abomination. There was no denying it. No monster would ever go to the same lengths as he did.

"Did your mother like your sister?" He asked quietly.

"She was very pleased- in fact, overjoyed beyond her dreams when she learnt I was to marry an Atlantean." Jason continued in the same monotone. "The bloodline would remain pure with her, even if our descendants were to marry Muggles, Squibs and non-humans, like you did."

Rhaegar felt boiling rage nearly spill forth and onto this unfortunate young man when he heard that. Alarissa was worth an infinite amount more than Lady Selwyn! But he restrained his rage. When he next met Lord and Lady Selwyn he was going to drill that lessons in their heads, even if he had to beat it into them!

"She wasn't too pleased that your sister acted all defensive towards your wife," Jason continued. "But she kept her mouth shut, she didn't do or say anything although she wasn't pleased judging by the way she looked when Philomena would say something every time someone said something on the matter- or your wife, personally, though few dared. They feared you as I did."

Huh.

Rhaegar mentally shook. He turned even colder. His sister. His sweet sister.

If he never saw her again…. The last thing he said to her….

"And your father?" Rhaegar pressed.

"My father stayed quiet the whole time," Jason said. "He barely said a word to Philomena. He seemed occupied, somehow. Secretive. He didn't say anything, though, to either of us, whether or not he was pleased."

Rhaegar went on mercilessly. "And the rest of your family?" He asked.

"My sister seems jealous and spiteful of Philomena. She seems to be scheming. My brother is even more secretive. I often catch them whispering to one another when they think no one's around but I never cared to find out what they must be talking about. I didn't think they mean harm. I don't think they'd dare."

 _You'll be surprised,_ Rhaegar almost said.

"My brother seems to be angry all the time, nowadays. Sullen and resentful. Bitter, especially every time we go to cities like London and he sees everything. He seems angry, especially when he sees Muggles. But all my family disdain them, so I don't think there's anything different about that."

"Has he been going somewhere?" Rhaegar asked.

"Yes," Jason replied. "Many times. He never said where. When I asked, he told me he liked to meet with some new friends now. I never asked anymore. He seemed satisfied after he met them, and determined, though for what I never knew. He still seems angry, though. And bitter. He said once he wanted the world to change."

 _And that's how he reels them in,_ Rhaegar thought. _Him and Grindelwald._ Not a promise of the past, where Pure-bloods were treated like royalty and Muggles were slaves. No, that only worked for a limited amount of people. They needed a cause. Something worth fighting for- a future, not the past. Muggles were fast multiplying and birth rates for witches and wizards, as well as magical creatures ( _that_ he had learnt from Alarissa) were dropping. Muggle innovations and discoveries were long exceeding that of wizards, the majority still using candles for lighting, and only adapting Muggle technology, such as radios, vehicles and other things, to their own usage, whereas Muggles finally learnt how to fly.

Like Athelinda, he thought. She had been just as bitter and angry.

Vaguely, he recalled Jason Selwyn's brother. He remembered a tall, dark-haired young man with a scowling face, dressed in emerald-green robes, looking possibly envious at the family manor- one of many mansions, manors and castles that belonged to the Artrigos family. The lighting, the ornaments, the decorations, food and architecture…. This mansion was a shabby, little cottage bare of luxuries compared to the palatial Artrigos home, and their family were among the oldest, the wealthiest and the most renowned Pure-blood families in Britain.

He wondered how bitter and resentful Voldemort's followers must have felt when they saw the Atlantean cities, towns and even villages. Not a single beggar in sight. Was it any wonder that they would be so bitter- because they resented the fact that Atlanteans were living far better than they were? Not a single beggar or tramp lived in any settlement owned and dominated by Atlanteans, all of them so wealthy even the poorest had a great deal of money to spare. The houses, villas, mansions and manors, the castles, even the small cottages and chalets were immeasurably beautiful and the architecture unparalleled in beauty. The academies, the libraries, the soldiers' training grounds…

How they must have felt, Rhaegar thought. And compared it to their own homes. And he felt ashamed that he never realised this before. Then again, if others had gained so much as a whiff out of this knowledge, they would turn aggressive. Demanding more. Never leaving them alone, and eventually hunting Atlanteans down _en masse_ and slaughtering them, like the days before Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Igraine and Morgana. No wonder few outsiders- non-Atlanteans- were welcome in their settlements, and not without vows of secrecy.

But there were those who suffered. But the Selwyns were hardly suffering.

Jason was innocent though. Foolish and cowardly he might seem. He muttered a spell that took out the effects of the Veritaserum and uttered another spell.

Rhaegar whispered a spell. He needed to contact Harald. And he needed to contact Alarissa. And he needed Jason Selwyn to do something for him. He didn't trust Voldemort to keep his word. He would be a fool if he did.

Rhaegar knew he was in big trouble, even if his beloved, precious, little sister, whom he would do anything to save, was not in Voldemort's clutches.

Elisabeth. Her and Harald's son, Alexander. Apparently Voldemort knew the identity of some of Arthur Pendragon's descendants, if he was correct, before even Rhaegar did. How long before he figured out the Artrigos family were among them- if Rhaegar's suspicions were correct, that is.

No, he did not have much time at all.

And he would never consider handing anyone else, certainly not his own family, on a plate to a psychopathically, evil monster- no, an abomination- such as Voldemort.

Rhaegar cast an illusion within Jason Selwyn's mind- conjuring images, thoughts, supposed realities and events that never actually happened. Alarissa may want him to apologize later, but for now….

Jason went to the fireplace.

"Marcus," he contacted his brother. His brother's scowling face appeared. Rhaegar stood next to the mantelpiece making sure that Marcus Selwyn could not see him.

"Where are you and where are you coming back? There are people we have to meet at the _Antipodean Opaleye_." He said naming a fashionable, highly expensive, gourmet restaurant, popular among the wealthy elite.

His brother's face scowled. "Important guests?"

"Yes. From ministries overseas and the International Confederation of Wizards." Jason replied. "Where's Mother? She and Philomena left together this morning. Olivia went too. Tell them to meet us there. These are not guests we can afford to snub. Ministry members will be there as well, including the Minister's right-hand man. We need to be there. No exceptions. No arguments. And some important members of the Volsung Atlantean clan will be there as well. The Artrigos family and Avantador."

Marcus perked up. "Artrigos? Avantador? Avantador will be there?" His dark eyes brightened and flashed hungrily. Avantador was Harald's surname.

"Yes, along with his wife and child." Jason said. "For some reason. Nightfall, around six, I'd say. Be there. Contact Philomena, Mother and Olivia. Oh, and Father. Make sure you're there as well. Rhaegar Artrigos is coming, and my soon-to-be-in-laws, their second son and eldest daughter, along with her son. They're not known to like me."

 _Yes,_ Rhaegar thought. _The exchange will take place, but under my terms and on my grounds- or so Voldemort thinks._

Or rather, the Selwyns would think that. And they were not as cunning. They would eagerly jump at the opportunity, if the hunger on Marcus' face was anything to go by.

Rhaegar had to play the game. Voldemort can't be allowed to have any options. He doubted the Selwyns knew about Athelinda and Sigurd being married to and sired by him, respectively. He would have wanted to play his cards right and impress his crowd. Tom Riddle never spoke about his background in Hogwarts. Voldemort would not speak about his private weaknesses either. In fact, he would kill to keep it secret.

But he wanted them. And Voldemort will play along- or get nothing. Or rather, the Selwyns would play along and Voldemort would not yet know the meeting would take place.

He had to play his cards right. Or rather the pieces on his chessboard.

Marcus' face was gone, but Jason Selwyn was currently stunned. Rhaegar had thrown a stunning spell at him once he finished his spell.

He needed to book a large, luxurious place at the _Antipodean Opaleye_. Invite members of the ministry, the International Confederation of Wizards and Harald. And although he would want nothing more than for Sigurd and Athelinda to be kept hidden, now he had no choice. Voldemort's followers might sense a trap. So he needed them to see the prize, not as a cheap bait bought in a Muggle shop.

He contacted Athelinda, his parents and Willamar. They were hysterical when they heard what had happened, but he insisted on the plan. His parents and Willamar reluctantly agreed to let Athelinda go along, but not Sigurd. Rhaegar insisted. They had no other choice. They can keep him safe.

He contacted Alarissa. "Where are you?" She asked worriedly.

"Safe," he said. "And so should you be. Rest." He swallowed. He didn't know what he would find and although he knew he had taken the worst and won, he can never be to certain that the next battle was something he would survive. "I love you." He said. "I'll see you soon."

Alarissa's mirror blanked. She was in bed, dressed in a white silk dressing gown with seed pearls over a pink negligée. She had been reading, praying desperately for Rhaegar to come home. And she prayed again.

Although it might seem hypocritical and selfish that Rhaegar would dangle his sister and her son over the enemy's hungry eyes, and Harald's son and wife, he had his reasons. Alarissa was weakened with pregnancy. The Fey were among the most- if not the most- powerful earthly creatures. But Alarissa's strength and magical power would go to nourishing and conserving this child, nurturing its growth and magical abilities, defending it if need be- even if Alarissa died, the child in her womb would be able to continue growing until it was ready to come out. It would be fed and safely defended. The problem was it took twelve months for a pregnancy to complete as opposed to a human's nine months. And a year was a long time to be in danger in. They could easily kidnap a child, but a pregnant woman? Not as mobile- she could not use portkeys- apparently that was determined by new healers, to have harmful effects on the unborn, even the ones whose mothers used portkeys frequently. She certainly could not disapparate. The luxury restaurant prevented that with wards.

Rhaegar thought all of this as he silently readied himself. Jason Selwyn was still under his spell. He did not use the Imperius Curse. He didn't need to. He simply used Atlantean magic. Besides he had enough of the Unforgivable Curses. He went back home and took Jason with him.

He did his pre-battle rituals- practiced by not only Atlanteans, but Spartan soldiers, Japanese samurai and many others- exercises to strengthen and prepare his body, ate, and then went to the bathroom, bathed, shaved and trimmed his hair using magic, anointed himself with oil and groomed, combed his hair.

He put on trousers and a white shirt and over that, robes with a razor-edge collar, crisp cuffs and tasteful black over-robe, cut through like a tabard. But underneath that he wore the light-weight body armour of the Volsung warriors. A crimson dragon badge pinned to his front, but no medals.

He couldn't summon any other warriors. He already contacted Harald to let him know what was going on, with the assurances that his own son and wife would not be harmed.

Rhaegar knew they were running out of time. Soon Voldemort would suspect, if he hadn't already. If he wanted to use Sigurd to be the usher and builder to a new Camelot Age the way he envisioned it, Alexander, Harald's son, and not to mention Alarissa's and his child- needed to be exterminated. First he would think that Alexander and Elisabeth- possibly, if she weren't killed- would be the ones he could use to bring in the new Camelot. Raise Harald's son alongside Sigurd who would know him as a father and worship him. Until he realised that his son was already Arthur's heir, as well as Slytherin's. Then he would kill Harald's boy, Alexander to prevent him from having a rival. Would Voldemort kill his own son when he had fulfilled his uses, to prevent him from becoming a threat to himself- a rival? Sigurd was destined to become one of the most powerful wizards in the world when he grew older. Would Voldemort consider him a threat? Rhaegar and Alarissa's unborn child certainly would be- if Voldemort considered Muggles and Muggle-borns a threat, a hybrid child, would be far too powerful and far too dangerous to contain- especially if the child was a grandchild of the Fey rulers- and a Dark Lord, Grindelwald, or else the descendant of Arthur. She would not be allowed to exist.

And yet… Rhaegar knew there was more to this than Voldemort showed him. He might be able to beat him in combat, but he did not know where Voldemort put his horcruxes. He had more weaknesses, especially now that he had a wife- non-human and thus in danger by witches and wizards and an unborn child- not only a hybrid, but a descendant of Arthur OR of Grindelwald? Too dangerous for a potential Dark Lord, such as Voldemort to take. And Voldemort already knew that his loved ones, friends and any innocent were his weaknesses.

Everything is at risk.

* * *

Athelinda was paler than normal. He knew that this was the first time she would see her estranged husband's followers and they would see their son.

"How much Atlantean magic does he know?" Rhaegar had asked her quietly while they were still preparing.

She shook her head. "Not much… But I taught him to, you know, detect magic, how to disguise himself, others, his own Magical Signature, and how to expose hidden things." She swallowed.

Rhaegar closed his eyes. He really hoped he would be able to cast some sort of illusion, so that Sigurd and Harald's son, Alexander. But no, Voldemort would know. It was no use railing at Athelinda. She had already paid the price, or was about to.

"Whether or not we survive this," he said, "in the heat of the battle, when the enemies are distracted, you will need documents for yourself and your son. No magical community would be safe for you." He handed her a manila envelope. She opened it with shaking hands.

Inside were two Muggle passports, a driver's license, some papers, which on closer inspection appeared to be tickets of some kind, and a Muggle bank notice saying that a sizeable amount of muggle money had been placed in a Muggle bank account- But the name of the bank and the country in which it was from were blurred in her eyes. All of them had unfamiliar names, but the Muggle photographs- still and lifeless- was of her and Sigurd. There was also a blank piece of paper.

"When you are a safe distance- in London inside Heathrow Airport- that's the place Muggles go to when they want to board airplanes- their flying vehicles- to go to another country- the paper will tell you which country you are going to. Then it will quietly burn itself without attracting any attention or causing the sparks to spread and burn anything. And before you ask, don't worry. Planes are utterly safe. Muggles are ingenious when it comes to engineering." He gave a strained smile. "We truly have fallen way behind. We will give you as much time as you possibly need."

Athelinda's words- and her heart- seemed to choke up within her throat. "I- I can't just leave you! I can never leave you! Not now! Not ever- _not ever again_!"

He shook his head. "Sister." He said calmly. "You must. For the sake of your son who deserves to live free. For the sake of the Camelot that will be- it must never be in control of monsters like Grindelwald and Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" She whispered. Fear filled her. He gave a bitter smile. "That's the name he has given himself. The boy you once knew is gone, Athelinda. He has chosen his path and he is not turning back. You must save your son. He is all you have left."

Athelinda swallowed. "I'm to blame for everything, aren't I?" She said bitterly. "I went with him. I fell for charm, lies and dreams. I tore this family apart and it was never the same again. I conceived my innocent son with him and swore him a future he never chose, something which _he_ knows and wants, and one that will endanger him for the whole of his life." Tears might have welled in her eyes, but Rhaegar admirably noted that they did not fall.

"Until he fulfils that destiny," Rhaegar said quietly. "Then maybe the future might not be so bad after all." He looked down. What future, he wondered, would his own child have? A safe one? Yes, she may accomplish things, but most of all, there was nothing more he wanted than for her and her mother to be safe. And happy. He looked down.

Then he looked up again. "He will live. That is the most important thing. That he grows up safe, happy, intelligent, strong, resourceful and good." He paused. He wanted to tell her a million things. He wanted to tell his wife and unborn child an infinite number of things in case he died, but not only were they not here, and he didn't know where to start, they just didn't have the time. His parents and brother too. He swallowed hard when he thought of Philomena, that aching pain inside, shredding his heart and soul. His sweet little sister.

If either of them died that night, the last thing he spoke to her about would have been…

Now he knew. He should have known before, actually. He swore now, that if they survived this, he would never again leave on a bitter note.

He wanted to convince Athelinda not to blame herself. But now…

He glanced at the clock. "We need to leave." He handed her a purse made of silk. It matched her gown, simple ivory silk.

"Inside are all your belongings." He said. "The people at the airport won't ask any problems. When you check in- that is, when you go to the counter and present them with these papers and the passports- they usually get your luggage that's too big for you to carry by hand. They take them and place them in the plane's baggage section. Two suitcases- which are more practical than wizard trunks, really- will be waiting for you there. They will appear when you take out the piece of paper. But they are filled with Muggle clothes and things, and instructions on how to use them, and your actual belongings- even Sigurd's toys and your books- will be in this purse. Voldemort will be expecting Atlantean magic and concealment charms- such as lockers and pockets folded within air and empty space. So we can't risk that. Put the documents in here." She did as she was told.

He took a deep breath. "If we don't make it…" he paused. "If we do, it will still be a long time before we meet each other again… I want you to know that I have never regretted having you as my sister." He looked her in the eye as he said this.

This would have been a blow to his pride, in other times. But Rhaegar now knew the value of time and family now. He wasn't going to waste it.

There was no use denying it.

His family was his life. If not more.

* * *

Rhaegar looked around.

The _Antipodean_ _Opaleye_ 's foyer was a beautiful setting. Rich brown-gold velvet carpeted the floors and burgundy papered the walls in between gold-painted panelling. There was a grand staircase, with gold-plated bannisters, and railings on the upper-floor. This place, unusually for somewhere in wizarding Britain, had Atlantean lighting. So, Rhaegar knew it was better-lit than candle-light.

But still his eyes narrowed. If he could kill Voldemort everything would end tonight. And yet… He had a gut feeling that it was not possible. Something was not right. This was not the time for him to be defeated.

The ministry officials- who had hastily arrived- eagerly on the invitation of his parents- greeted them enthusiastically. They were sycophants. Toadies. But it would save them. Members of the International Confederation of Wizards were also there as well. Many people were looking wide-eyed and excited at this. He could see _Daily Prophet_ and other news agencies' and magazines' reporters eagerly looking at them, and photographers, readying their cameras.

A public setting. He then tensed. He spotted the Selwyns.

Rhaegar had erased Jason's memory of their recent confrontation, and the false memories he planted- Voldemort's knowledge of Atlantean magic didn't go too deep and he wouldn't have had the time, even if he appeared here, to do a thorough search of Jason's dim brain.

Marcus Selwyn was there, scowling as usual. Olivia Selwyn was a tall woman, she was easily spotted in her golden-brown hair.

Athelinda was currently preoccupied with Sigurd. The boy was kept out of sight of the photographers and reporters. The restaurant's security guards finally pushed them out of the building.

Voldemort would have warned them about Sigurd's eye. So they would have wanted to see it to be sure.

But when Athelinda left… they knew they needed to hide it.

As for Harald, his wife and son…. Rhaegar also had to give them their best chance.

He didn't have much time to prepare for them. He supposed that always suspected that _he_ would come for Sigurd and Athelinda. He magically created duplicates of Athelinda's and Sigurd's passports, driver's license and tickets, using some photos that Harald had sent him a long time ago- altered- and new aliases. They would not wear disguises. Polyjuice potion took too long to make, was complicated and it- and other enchantments- wore off. They would be hiding in plain sight- yet not plain at all.

Rhaegar looked at the approaching Selwyns. Philomena was with them. And by the miniscule, unnatural gleam and the barely-noticeable glazed look in her eyes, he deduced that she had been Imperiused.

Rage welled up inside him and grief. His little sister. His sweet little sister who had run up to him, clutching a baby-book with her chubby little fingers, pleading him to read, or begging him to pick her up and swing her around. He gritted his teeth hard, and felt the threat of tears in his eyes.

At this point, Athelinda decided to show herself. Sigurd was by her side, pressed firmly against her, her hand on his shoulder, but his eye, the one that marked him as the son she spoke of once, was visible.

Athelinda stopped herself from shaking. It would not do to show any weaknesses. They would prey upon it immediately. The Artrigos family and the Avantadors who knew what was happening, silently thanked God that the Selwyns were not legilimens.

The Ministry officials greeted the Selwyns. Rhaegar dared not look into his parents' faces when they saw Philomena.

The Selwyns approached. Rhaegar did not bother to hide the threat and the loathing they saw on his face. The smug smile of Lady Selwyn vanished and she turned white.

"Shall we proceed?" The minister's right-hand man- an official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, named Bartemius 'Barty' Crouch suggested. He was entirely oblivious to what was going on.

Rhaegar tilted his head.

They proceeded into the main hall of the restaurant where diners assembled. This place was lavish still, but the lighting was somewhat dimmed, though clear enough to see. What was the point in having Atlantean lighting if one wanted dim and candles could have easily done the trick? No idea. Atlantean lighting was expensive. But everything screamed high-class and luxury. Persian and Turkish rugs, antique tapestries framing the entrance, along with potted palms. Priceless paintings, curtains and wall-sconces with lanterns. Tables with white linen- from Egypt not Ireland- just to emphasize how expensive and luxurious this place was- crystal from Austria, Chinese porcelain and silverware or gold-ware in the private rooms.

Rhaegar froze. He made eye contact with the Selwyn siblings.

Thank goodness they weren't as stupid as to look smug, or happy in any way. But then again, the look on his face must have been utterly dangerous.

"Mr. Crouch," he said calmly. "How goes the search for Grindelwald's remnants?"

Crouch took a while to respond. It was as if Rhaegar was goading him, or he had some unspoken message there. He then began,

"The remaining splinter-groups are the most feeble of remnants we have encountered," he began, a hint of arrogance rising after his initial hesitation. "But they are still a threat. Soon they will be stamped out. Nothing escapes justice."

Rhaegar admitted to himself that he didn't like the sound of this fellow. But he sent a look loaded with meaning and threats to the direction of the Selwyns.

"Let's get to business, then," he said pleasantly. "Grindelwald's remnants are going or gone. Most of them are either dead, captured or hiding. Some of them-" his face darkened when he thought about this "-has even been subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."

Everyone winced. "Of course, we all know that such tidings don't bode well for any remnants being hunted down," he said. "Sooner or later their ideals, their ways of life and magic will be stamped out. That is, unless they find someone new to flock to- like bees or ants without a Queen. They need someone. Someone to defend them, and teach them new methods of brutality. Someone to keep their ideals alive and flourishing. Someone to make new plans and rally around as a central figurehead. Someone to give them the glory they feel like they deserve." His voice turned to acid.

Crouch froze. So did everyone else.

"I interrogated." Rhaegar said slowly. "All I got was a name."

Crouch's eyes flared. Little did he know he stood no chance- but it would not stop him from trying as hard as he could to stamp this person's followers to the ground.

"Who?" He demanded a little too loudly- now everyone else was listening in.

Rhaegar looked at him, eyes like twin blue fires. "Voldemort. Lord Voldemort as some call him. Isn't that right, Marcus and Olivia?" The audience turned towards the two members Rhaegar was smiling at- a smile that cut like a knife.

They froze. Marcus' eyes flared. Oliva's flashed. But it was Marcus who took out his wand and shot a jet of red light towards Rhaegar who promptly blocked it.

Everyone screamed and the diners drew back, some tripping over their own chairs in the haste to stand. Rhaegar threw a curse at Olivia, before her family could even react, startling her and causing her to crumple to the ground. She was on Philomena's left side. Rhaegar then threw a powerful, wandless spell that knocked Marcus off his feet, but the boy ducked behind an overturned table and shot a stream of spells at spectators. It was such a good thing he was outnumbered.

Barty Crouch- the last person he had expected started to retaliate. His parents got there first- Andreas had been a soldier in the Global Wizarding War. Katerina was one of the most formidable fighters he had ever seen. Willamar joined in, covering his sister while Harald shot powerful spells with and without his wand, while his wife and son were pulled behind.

Rhaegar was in the midst of it all. Powerful, unmatched and fearsome, he knocked them out, several to one, until Marcus, shooting a scowl and a glare full of hatred, grabbed his unconscious sister (he must have been smart in combat at least, but he didn't realise this was a trap), and disapparated.

How did he do that? As mentioned the restaurant had wards. Rhaegar frowned. Everyone not used to battle was shaking. Diners were slowly getting up from behind or underneath tables and chairs, and waiters and waitresses did the same. Barty Crouch went around, checking for any casualties or injuries, and Rhaegar sighed as he repaired the damage.

"Stupefy." He muttered and Jason crumpled to the ground. He would deal with him later. He waved his wand and repaired anything broken, smashed, dented and things flew back into place. Anything overturned floated back up and the paintings and tapestries which has scorch marks within them were repaired. A palm by the doorway had been overturned, dirt spilling out. The soil moved back in, not a grain left behind and the pot moved itself back to its original position. Even the food and drink came back to its original spot, least the patrons, and owners complained.

Philomena was safe. She was starting to blink rapidly. The Imperius Curse didn't last long. She started to look around blinking rapidly in shock. Her eyes flashed to Rhaegar.

"What happened?" She cried. She was as pale as a sheet.

Rhaegar sighed. "I told you what I found out." He looked at Athelinda. She understood. He grabbed Philomena's hand and pulled her aside. "It doesn't matter now. You're safe now. That's all that matters." His voice barely refrained from shaking.

Athelinda slowly and quietly pulled a shaken Sigurd out. Rhaegar looked at Elisabeth and Alexander. They understood as well.

Harald lowered his wand.

"Voldemort." Rhaegar said. "That is his name. The next Dark Lord."

* * *

Athelinda had gone. Sigurd- after getting over his initial shock- quickly began to bombard her with questions. He sounded in awe and excited.

"Hush." She whispered. "I'll tell you later."

They got out of Diagon Alley and ended up in London. Athelinda checked her purse. Inside the small clutch were change of clothes for her and Sigurd. Travelling clothes. Muggle clothes. Far less elegant and expensive than what she was used to wearing. It struck her that she had never worn anything other than luxury brands. She sighed. It wasn't something she should be proud of.

"Come on." She said. She pulled them into a public bathroom and slipped the clothes onto her and Sigurd. As for the ones she had worn, she folded them and placed them in her purse. There was also money there. A huge amount of Muggle money. Muggles had paper-money, like they did in Kataris as well as in other Atlantean settlements. She grabbed Sigurd's hand.

She didn't even have time to say goodbye.

Rhaegar wanted no association with her and Sigurd to Voldemort's name. If they were to discover he had once been Tom Riddle…

There were people who could testify that she had known Tom Riddle- was even rumoured to have gone out with him. And oh yes, she was a 'widow' with a young son. They only needed to put two-and-two together.

Which was also why they could not say- except to Dumbledore- who opened the Chamber of Secrets. Only they had to make sure he never came back.

She needed to leave. And then she would return with Sigurd when he was old enough to start school.

Cars were scooting down the road. A lot of cars, she noticed with surprise. As anyone could imagine, she had never seen so many cars in her life.

 _I wonder_ _how_ _you_ _drive_ , she thought.

Athelinda handed Sigurd a pair of sunglasses. "We're among Muggles, now." She reminded him. "No talking loudly, _especially_ in regards to the magical world: any magical people, creatures and enchanted things."

"'Cos they don't know we exist?" Sigurd lisped. "Yes." Athelinda replied.

"Oh." Sigurd munched on the Honeydukes chocolate bar his mother gave him. Athelinda watched as a woman dressed in a coat with a hat and a dotted veil, like the one she had on, as well as gloves, moved slightly forwards, not enough to get too close to the oncoming cars, and raised her hand. She waved to get someone's attention and next thing anyone knew, a car came towards her. This one was yellow. It had the words Taxi Cab printed on it and on an illuminated sign sticking on top. The woman got in. She could see her telling instructions to the driver- a man in a black suit with a cap of some sort on his head. "Interesting." She said.

The man nodded, he turned back around and the taxi cab sped off to the right- a certain direction, so Athelinda knew that the woman had told him where to go.

 _This_ _must_ _be_ _what_ _some_ _Muggles_ _do_ _for_ _an_ _occupation_ , she thought. She looked at her son. She held his hand tighter.

Athelinda moved forwards, craning her neck to see if there was a car just like the one she had seen. As it turns out there was. She spotted on in the distance and when she was sure that the car was approaching and could see her, she signalled like the woman had done, waving her hand, clutching her son-and her purse- tightly.

The cab saw her. It whizzed straight towards her and the tyres screeched as it came to a stop. She opened the passenger door. "Get in, darling."

The driver's eyes bugged as he looked at her. His jaw dropped. "Um-er…"

"Heathrow Airport, please," she begged him. "Uh-um-uh-" he stuttered. "Sure." He finally managed to say.

It was her Atlantean looks. Muggles weren't used to seeing it. Wizards only saw it in newspapers and magazines. She sighed. "The Airport."

He speedily went off.

It was a while before they even saw the airport- a huge building, with vehicles like birds- somewhat- but with small wheels in comparison to its hugeness.

 _Is_ _that_ _thing_ _supposed_ _to_ _fly?_ Athelinda thought incredulously. _How_ _does_ _it_ _even_ _work?_

Looking out the window, palms smudging the glass, mouth agape, Sigurd then frowned.

"Mummy," he asked. "What are _those_?"

"Ah. First time flying?" The cab driver asked cheerfully. She sighed. "Yes."

"They're airplanes, lad," the driver said. "They take you up to the clouds, they do. That is, if you've got enough money for it."

His mother frowned. "What happens if you don't have enough money, though?" Sigurd asked confused. "Well, you can't leave the country to go on holiday, can you?" The driver replied. "Or you take a ship. And that's only if you've got enough money for that. Sometimes you go on the really bad ships- the smelly places, dirty with lots of rats and too many people. Horrible places." He shuddered.

"So you've been on a ship before?" She asked him. The driver sighed. "Oh, yes. When I was a wee lad. My Dad's from Norway and Mum's from Sweden. Moved here right after the war, when the Nazis came."

 _The_ _Second_ _World_ _War_ , Athelinda thought. For a second she almost thought the Global Wizarding War. Then she remembered the Muggles had their own war at the same time the wizards did.

 _I wonder what that was about,_ shethought. Out loud, she carefully said, "The Nazis?"

"Yup." The man's friendly face darkened. "They came alright. Weren't satisfied with Germany so they came east, then west, then north and south. Tried to force a lot of things. Royal family of Norway went into hiding, fought to liberate their people, they did. The Nazis came and they implemented their evil ideas into the place."

Athelinda frowned. "Their ideas?"

"You know," the man shrugged. "Nazism. The idea that they were the 'Master-race' and every other race were slaves." He frowned. "They started rounding up Jews, Gypsies, and people who fought against them, and threw them into camps where they were killed or worked to death."

Athelinda felt a horrible chill rise within her. Her face slowly became pale. _So_ _it_ _happens_ _in_ _the_ _Muggle_ _world_ _too_.

Sigurd frowned. "Jews and Gypsies? That's stupid. It's not their fault they're Jews and Gypsies."

Athelinda was silent. "It never is, lad." The driver's tone was dark. "But some people think it's a crime to be born into something you can't help but be. Even if you didn't choose it. Some people don't accept what's different. They don't think outside the box, so they don't like other people thinking outside of it, and they don't like seeing anything from outside the box. They blame them if they so much as seem better than the others, 'cos they don't like to think _they're_ the ones, failing, you know? It's easy to blame someone for everything that goes wrong, then look around, get up and find a solution to the mess. Then they grow angry. Then they start to hate. And when you start hating, it's hard to be happy and to love again. Soon the only happiness you can have is when other people are hurting."

Sigurd frowned. "But it shouldn't be like that."

"Then maybe you'll change things," the driver said. "I'm older. You're young. You look like you've got money. If you study hard, get a good job, look after your Mum and your family, look out for others… Well, who knows what you can do?" He gave the boy a wink.

Sigurd was silent as he contemplated this bit of advice.

At the airport, Athelinda paid the Norwegian-Swedish-born Taxi driver, and held Sigurd's hand as she went off.

Interestingly enough, soon a trolley appeared with two Muggle suitcases. Rhaegar was right. They _were_ far more practical than trunks.

"Come on, Sweetheart." She held onto his hand as she pushed. Inside were lots of people in seats. Mothers cuddled and fussed over small children and babies. Men lit cigars and cigarettes (she hated the smell, and she had a strong feeling they were bad for them, as well) and paced nervously. People checked wristwatches. There was a long counter with friendly-faced staff in uniform sitting behind them. People were queuing up. Athelinda took a deep breath. She went and sat down, and reached into her purse.

She took out the blank piece of paper that Rhaegar had given her. Unfolding it, it took a while before ink started to appear in capital letters. _AUCKLAND_ , _NEW_ _ZEALAND_.

Her jaw nearly dropped. It was isolated. On the other side of the world! They had to go through _that_ extreme?

She swallowed. No, she did not have time to say goodbye. But she felt the threat of tears and stopped herself from weeping. She took out the papers. The passport had the name Amelia Katherine Sears on it. Her son was called Demetri Andrew Sears. Her occupation- she was a landowner in Britain- a wealthy aristocrat, who had married down the social ladder and young. She had been widowed by the war, with a young son. Apparently she was hoping for a new and better life in New Zealand- which was the reason people migrate to the British-yet-independently-controlled islands. The tickets showed that she was flying First Class- whatever that meant. Maybe they were going to give her special treatment? She frowned. This could mean that they would not be inconspicuous.

But on the other hand, she realised this was Rhaegar's way of saying goodbye. Of trying to do her one last favour. As if he hadn't already done her enough.

Athelinda choked up a sob. Her eyes blurred with tears. She couldn't help it. She- who had been the worst sister in existence- the most appalling- and her brother still went out of his way to look out and provide for her, protecting her son. "Mummy?" Sigurd asked. His small hand settled on her knee. She sniffled. "Come on, darling." She stood up, taking his hand. "I'll explain when we get there."

Athelinda walked up to the counter. Taking the passports and the tickets, she handed them to the man in the front. The man frowned as he read it thoroughly and then nodded. "Very well, Ma'am. Please step aside." Another man, dressed in the same uniform, picked up one of the suitcases in the trolley and placed them on… something- a small platform. Then she looked up. She was startled but almost kept it hidden. _A_ _scale_ , she thought. It was weighing baggage.

The man nodded satisfied. "Your name?" he asked although he could easily check the passport. "Amelia Sears," she said. He nodded. He wrote the name on a tag, looped and tied it around the handle of the suitcase. "I take it these two go together?" He asked, gesturing to the other suitcase.

Athelinda frowned, at least she didn't scowl. _Obviously_. "Yes." She replied. The man took the handle and pulled the weight of the suitcase inside, out of sight. The other man took the second suitcase and he did the same.

Finally, they were done. Athelinda still had her purse, and she wasn't letting go of it. She had her son and that was more important.

She went around. After specific instructions from a kindly lady in an airport uniform, they managed to find the way.

* * *

"You need to go as well," Rhaegar reminded them.

"I'm not leaving Harald," Elisabeth insisted. "And what about your son?" Andreas asked.

Rhaegar looked at Alexander. A few months older than Sigurd, he had hair like beaten gold- almost, if not exactly the exact same shade, its gleaming, slightly glowing strands, reflecting light and illuminating his face. His eyes were a stormy, yet sapphire blue and his skin porcelain. It was clear from his features would be incredibly striking once he got older. Right now his eyes were closed. He was asleep.

Rhaegar breathed out a sigh. "We can't stop fate. If Voldemort was correct…. How did he think it would be you anyway, what gave him that idea?" He frowned.

Elisabeth looked down. "My father was a proud man. It was a family myth, supposedly, one that we cannot confirm. But that was what he believed."

"Voldemort believed it." Rhaegar said. "And he was willing to blow the cover of his secret goal outright- without me even confronting him about that bit- and demand this of me, so what does this say, compared to the others?"

He looked at his parents, and his remaining siblings. "We will discuss this later. Jason has been exonerated. I made sure of that. Not even Crouch could jump on him as easily as he liked."

Who knew that little Barty Crouch could be so… temperamental? Eager to apprehend? Bloodthirsty? After spending thirty minutes with the fellow, Rhaegar was certain he didn't want to spend any more.

 _Merlin_ _help_ _us_ _if_ _that_ _man_ _ever_ _becomes_ _Minister_ _for_ _Magic_ , he thought. Barty Crouch would be the worst sort if he seemed power-hungry enough.

"But the same cannot be said for the rest of the family," he continued. "Lord and Lady Selwyn have both been sent under house-arrest, after questioning which bodes ill for the rest of their kin. Marcus and Olivia have prices on their heads. There is no sign of Voldemort, but he will be back- with a vengeance." He looked at Elisabeth. "And he will strike harder and faster than ever when the time comes. He's already attacked cities. He will want to make his move, now. He will not have forgotten you, or your son." She went very pale, as was expected. Her small boy lay, his head on her lap. "Think on that." He looked at his parents. "For now, we need to talk."

* * *

 _ **Yeah, family is more important, and few realise just how important until it's too late. So cherish your loved ones, as much as you can. I've had a personal family tragedy recently and I'm grieving, still. My grandfather passed away when I put up the last chapter. He was really a special guy. Now I'm worried about everyone else. How long do I have with them, and so on. I can only put my faith in God's Hands.**_

 _ **Yes, Athelinda will leave and she and her son will stay in another country, living among Muggles, until he is old enough. But their part has not ended yet in this story.**_

 _ **Harald's son Alexander, is more important than you know. The next story will be centred around him and Sigurd and their close friendship- like James-Potter-and-Sirius-Black, close.**_

 _ **For now.. Alexander is a small boy and next chapter Rhaegar confronts his mother- and finds out the truth.**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**"Understanding is the first step towards acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery."**_

 _ **Albus Dumbledore**_

 _ **"Don't be afraid of your fears. They're not here to scare you. They're here to let you know that something is worth it."**_

 _ **C. JoyBell. C**_

Rhaegar went to the kitchen with his mother. Casting a muffling charm, he turned towards her. " _Colloportus_ ," he said calmly.

"There's something that needs explaining."

His mother's hands were clasped in front of her. She looked up. Rhaegar saw the blue in her eyes- the same as his.

"Yes." She said.

"I think we all know that the quote, 'what we don't know, can't hurt us' is a lie. It's what we don't know that gets us in the end. You don't see the knife when it stabs you in the back. So tell me, did you _know_ Gellert Grindelwald?" She was silent.

"Yes," his mother finally replied. Rhaegar nodded as if he had expected nothing less- which he had.

Then he asked. "Were you close?" She nodded. "Did you _love_ Grindelwald?" Her deep, icy blue eyes flashed up, alarmed.

She hesitated. "I think I did."

He stood very still for a long time.

"Mother," he finally said. "Is Grindelwald my father?"

She looked up, the expression of shock, alarm and disbelief was all too obvious. "What? No!"

"That's not what he implied," Rhaegar said quietly. "He said he last saw you on November 1925. I put two and two together and that was around the time I would have been conceived."

Katerina was very still. "Tell me now, Mother. I'm going to have a child, Mother- did you know that?"

Her eyes widened. "What?" She froze. "You're going to have a baby?" She gasped.

"Alarissa is pregnant?" "Yes." He responded. He took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking again.

"Alarissa is expecting a child and the prophecy says the descendants of Arthur- if I am an Artrigos. I assume you know the origins of the name Arthur?"

Katerina- if possible- paled even further. "And yet, if Gellert Grindelwald is my father-"

"What?" She sounded alarmed. "Where did this come from? Rhaegar- I married your father before I even saw him for the last time."

He raised an eyebrow. "Grindelwald said-"

"Rhaegar," his mother said. She looked straight and deep into his eyes when she said this. Deep, icy-clear blue into blue. "My father- when he heard I was supposedly 'friends' with a boy who had been expelled from Durmstrang- was furious. No, as a matter of fact, he was enraged. He pressured me into going to a social event where your father's family would be hosting. The Artrigos family, he said, were not only Pure-blood and Atlantean Volsungar, but also high-ranking and even wealthier than our family, which as you know, were among the wealthiest in Europe. So naturally, when my father heard they had a son around my own age…" She sighed. "I wasn't happy at first. Sure, your father was handsome. But he didn't have the lively cheerfulness and happy charm of 'Golden Gellert', as some referred to him. The same carefree attitude was missing, the same easy talent- yes your father was just as intelligent, but he was so serious. I was miserable."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. His father, true, was neither the most charming nor cheerful person in the world- but at least he was genuine. But she was young then. At that age, charm was more important than being genuine to them.

But his father was incredibly warm, and endlessly patient. He had never raised his voice to Rhaegar, Willamar, Athelinda or Philomena. He was abundantly reasonable- often to a point of frustration. He could be cheerful and happy- but with the ones he trusted and liked or loved. As for his parents' marriage. Well, they were undisputedly happy together, and remained loyal, faithful, loving and supportive partners- until Gellert Grindelwald implied otherwise.

"But as my father heard more rumours about Grindelwald, more rumours about dark and forbidden magic, more tortures, abductions, murders and so forth… He grew desperate. Desperate to secure our family- including me- from Grindelwald, who having known me, was likely to make us all high targets to be 'conscripted' or coerced, or targeted as suspects by the Ministries who threw regular rules of protection- if they had any- out the window." She gave a harsh and bitter laugh. "I endangered my entire family. How wonderful. It would have been good if I had been born a seer, like the Vǫlva.

"So they arranged for me to meet with Andreas. A number of times. We warmed up to each other. We soon became friends. Feelings may have slowly developed at that point, but I can never be too sure."

She took a deep breath. "Rhaegar, Grindelwald was rising in power. Soon, his attacks and followers started to get worse. Everywhere we saw his symbol- a triangle with a circle within and a line inside it."

Rhaegar stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he knew about that symbol. "I know the symbol, Mother. It's like asking a Muggle what a Nazi Swastika is."

His mother looked bewildered. "A- what?"

"Nothing." No need to explain to her. It was bad enough it happened in _this_ world. "Please continue."

"And then he disappeared. My father convinced me to escape. Leave for Britain, he told me. I argued. I couldn't just leave him. He told me to go. Andreas and I grew closer. We were saddened. My family would be targeted, and I felt responsible. Gellert Grindelwald was likely to come for me. They wanted to see me safe. I told them that he was gone. He and my mother looked at each other and answered that this was just a transition. He would come back."

Rhaegar felt ice growing in his blood. Riddle had disappeared for a time too, after Sigurd's birth. Before emerging as Voldemort. Why and what he did was unknown.

"I asked them how they knew, and they asked me what I thought he would do as I knew him. Andreas and I… We talked. We worked together. We were sure that Gellert Grindelwald was planning something. He had gone off the globe as for all we knew. Your father and I worked together to solve the mystery. We researched. Andreas who was already a well-known soldier then- not anywhere near as much as you, though- spoke to the clan's scouts and spies. We grew closer. We panicked. A number of times we nearly fell into despair. I'm not sure if we had fallen in love at that stage, though. My father was desperate. So was my mother. They needed to see me safe and out of Gridelwald's sight. They also needed to make me unavailable to others. But I couldn't leave the country. Not on my own. My reputation would be ruined in an unmarried man took me away, when I was also unmarried." Rhaegar scoffed. Typical conventions.

"So Andreas and I got married. It was a secret ceremony- private. Of course we were dressed up, and we ate excellent food, but it was not a feast. Not much guests at all- only family. Then Gellert Grindelwald appeared once more. He came to me." Her mouth trembled.

"He whispered to me his goals. His dreams. His plan for world-domination for wizards. I could deny it no longer. I didn't want to believe it, but to deny what was right in front of my face… He did not try to hide it. He never denied it. This was not the boy I had grown up with in school, and tutored. I rebuked him. He left, angered and pained, promising revenge. Your father comforted me. Yes, you were conceived that night. But not by Gellert Grindelwald. I promise you- I swear to you, on all the bones of the heroes of honour, the noble dragons of our clan, on the memory of Atlantis and the seeress who predicted our doom and our rise to greatness once more- that Andreas _is_ your father. _NOT_ Gellert Grindelwald." She looked at him straight in the eye.

Rhaegar was silent for a long while. This was the most serious oath his mother ever made. But there was something else that needed answering.

"Did _he_ know?" Rhaegar asked. "Did Grindelwald know? About your marriage, your children? How old we were?"

Katerina shook her head. "I did not tell him. He did however, saw me in my wedding dress."

* * *

 _November 1925…_

Katerina wore a dress made by magic in the shortest time possible. In fact, it was taken from an antique bedspread with lace. It didn't look anything like a bedspread, though. There hadn't been enough time to design anything and they didn't want the publicity.

In fact they were determined to keep this a secret as much as possible.

The ceremony would be brief and short. Not much was needed and spared. Her dress was made by magic for the shortest amount of time, at home, no help needed. It was beautiful- impossibly so, in her eyes. She never wore anything like this. Smoothing her palms over each other she dared not to touch it. Long and flowing, it flowed into a slight train at the back. White with eggshell-white scrollwork done in French-knit braid and seed pearls all throughout the dress. The elbow-length outer-sleeves had scalloped lace and the inner-sleeves with scrollwork and the veil and the lace headdress had wax flowers and more pearls.

It didn't look like it had been fashioned from an antique silk counterpane. The wax flowers in her headdress, the lace in her whole outfit and the pearls did not look as if they had been taken out of various family treasures- on the insistence of her mother who had wanted to make this a special day despite the secrecy.

Katerina looked at her image in the mirror. Framed by the lace veil her face is clear, she looked like a statue or something one would see in a cameo or religious icon. With clear-cut, fine features. Her skin is clear and flawless. Her hair such a deep, lustrous black and her eyes were icy-clear yet deep blue.

She had imagined this day- what girl didn't? But never like this.

Never in secret.

The golden-haired boy of her dreams and past was gone. He had turned into a monster.

That was what everyone told her.

That didn't make it any easier to believe, though.

She looked at her mother, who used magic to adjust the pins of the headdress and veil. She smiled gently, trying to hide tears.

Katerina remained silent.

ShehadmetAndreasinthegarden _. "I promise you," he said taking her hand and looking straight into her eyes. "That I would be the most dutiful and considerate husband anyone could ever ask for. I would respect you and be reasonable. And nothing will progress between us, unless you want it to be."_

Katerina's mother spoke: "It's time." Katerina opened her eyes and looked at herself once more.

The ceremony was brief. The Ancient Rites of marriage used in Atlantis- rites that lasted for thousands of years- done by several people. Katerina closed her eyes until she reached the groom's specially-built place. She remembered seeing Andreas through the thick veil of purple her mother and sisters had hastily thrown over her. She remembered the strangely reassuring touch of his hand as they encircled the hearth three times before throwing off the purple cloth to be burnt- the purple veil along with a lock of her own hair- she didn't remember the bull being slaughtered or the words, but she did remember- after she was handed a herb and a bouquet of flowers- toasting the bread, sharing the loaf with her groom along with a cup of wine. The warm scent of the bread was easily remembered, and the taste of the fruit-bits on the bread and the custard whipped with the dough lingered on her tongue. She remembered the water poured over her head and had been surprised to find that it was warm- not cold as she expected.

 _Does this mean it's a good sign?_ She wondered. After being crowned with flowers and given another bouquet and a sheaf of wheat, they were pronounced married.

Katerina looked at her new husband. Suddenly all images of Gellert disappeared. She remembered looking at her new husband and wondering what kind of man she had just married.

Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves at the dinner. Katerina hardly touched her food on the other hand. She wondered what she felt about it all, what her new husband was really like inside. She had grown close to him, but not that close.

And there was Gellert Grindelwald.

After the traditions at the dinner- not a feast- was kept, Katerina spent a considerable amount of time with her new husband. Then the guests retired before anyone could suspect it was a wedding.

But not Katerina. She hadn't even bothered to change. She stepped outside. It was night already. She touched a tree, feeling the coolness and rough texture of the bark.

"Katerina."

The voice made her jump. Not simply because it was familiar, but because she knew who it belonged to.

Katerina turned to see a young man with golden-blond hair, a lean face and blue eyes.

Unlike the days when they sparkled with carefree mischief and amusement, the eyes were so very different.

So was the person. But this was probably because she knew who they belonged to now.

Though it was hard to believe.

"Katerina." He spoke. Katerina turned.

There was Gellert Grindelwald. The man who had haunted her dreams and existence.

He stopped and stared. "Katerina, what are you wearing?" He whispered through cold lips.

Instantly she looked down. She wore a wedding dress.

She hadn't changed. And she was sure this was the end for her, and her new husband.

"I-" She hesitated. "This is… Nothing. Just another…" Her eyes narrowed. "Why? Have you come to kill us?"

He looked at her. "Why would you believe that?"

She glared at him, eyes brimming. "Because you've killed so many people. Not just Muggles and Muggle-borns. But my people too. _My_ people." She stared at him with unrepressed rage, betrayal and anguish in her eyes. " _Why_?" She whispered, breaking down. Tears coursed down her cheeks. But she kept her eyes on his, flashing with anguish, grief, accusations and rage.

He too, looked anguished. "Katerina."

She sniffed and turned around. "What? Are you going to give me an excuse? Go ahead, give me an excuse to get you out of trouble, just like you did in school."

"I was just trying to protect us!" He cried out in despair. Katerina hastily cast a muffling charm around the entire area. "Protect us, including me, by killing my people?" Her eyes flashed with rage.

"I was trying to rebuild Camelot," he despaired. "Bring our race- as a whole- back to the days of the past. Rebuild and return the glory that was rightfully ours before the Muggles drove us into hiding."

"And you did this," she said, in an indescribable voice, her eyes still on his, by killing my _people_? As well as Muggles? How is that supposed to save us?"

She refused to shed her tears.

Gellert looked even more anguished. "I was searching for them," he said. "The descendants of Arthur," she froze. "I wanted to find them so we can build a universal Camelot, Katerina. For all of us."

She stared at him incredulously. "And you think this is Camelot, slaughtering entire families- even children and babies, right before their fathers' and mothers' eyes? Threatening them and torturing them in front of their families, so they would cooperate? Working Muggles to death and starving them, so they can't really work at all that well? You think this was what _created_ Camelot in the first place?!" She was shouting now.

Gellert looked at her in despair.

"This- is nothing." He whispered.

"No," she hissed. "You can't tell _me_ this is _nothing_."

"This was never going to last," he whispered desperately. "This was only temporary- until we could find and persuade them-"

" _No_." She hissed with such venom she never thought she was capable of.

"You can never build a civilisation like Camelot upon blood and death." She whispered. "Arthur didn't. He never wanted the Muggles to be enslaved. Merlin even started the Order of Merlin, not as the reward for great achievements as it was today, but as a way to protect Muggles from Dark Wizards." She saw Gellert's face tighten when she said that, like he wanted to deny everything and throw it back in her face.

"Katerina," Gellert said. "Sometimes… Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. It's easy when you are sacrificing yourself, but others is… harder. But sometimes… we _have_ to do it. It's what we gain in the long run… Arthur and Merlin built Camelot, yes, but what was there before? Nothing but chaos. Muggles fought each other and competed to be the next High King. They hunted and slaughtered wizards- even their own children if they discovered were magical. _If_ Britain had already been an organized place before Arthur claimed the crown, would Camelot have occurred? If there was already _something_ in its place, could Camelot have easily replaced it? If Arthur was to fulfil his destiny and Camelot was supposedly to have occurred where Wizards, Muggles and Magical Beings could coexist in harmony and prosperity, wouldn't he have to take out the other regime that is happening out? Because what was he going to do? Ask them to leave, so he could insert his own so-called golden age inside it? _They_ won't give up without a fight. _They_ won't want to lose what power they have. If there had already been an established regime by the time Arthur comes in, he would have had to fight it. And hundreds, if not thousands of people would have died. He also fought to protect Camelot. How many rebellions did he crush? How many people did he kill? What about from his own family? What about Mordred, his own son? He killed him in the end."

She was silent. Gellert regarded her before continuing:

"Sometimes, we have to do things for the long-term." He said. "Sometimes we have to do things for the _Greater_ _Good_ , Katerina. We suffer now, only to achieve greatness later. Eat bitter, taste sweet- that was what the Chinese said. We do the peaceful thing, and nothing happens the right way. We do the hard things, and the reward comes later. These, Katerina, these are the sacrifices we have to make in order to achieve greatness. To achieve the glory of the past, and take it to the future."

Katerina regarded him for a long time. Afterwards, she would never forgive him for this. Not merely for what he did, but for a single moment, he had _convinced_ her.

But then she remembered the lives lost. The babies slaughtered. Were their deaths necessary? The children tortured by his followers in front of their parents? The mass starvation and slow executions of Muggles? No. Arthur didn't build Camelot based on genocide. He killed only those he had to.

When did the killing of _babies_ \- the extermination of _whole_ _families_ \- become necessary?

"There were those who were never in the way." She said quietly. "The young children. The ones who could not help being who they were and did not choose to be born that way. You wiped out entire families- Muggles, ordinary Wizards, Magical Beings, Atlantean Wizards. You killed them all. Where was the necessity, may I ask, in killing _babies_?" Her eyes flashed.

"Katerina-" Gellert began.

"You _lied_ ," Katerina continued. "You lied to me. You dream about glory days. You dream about bringing _glory_ back to our race. But ask yourself on whether there is glory in killing young children who are meant to be the future of the entire _world_ , including our race."

Gellert opened his mouth to say something, but Katerina was on a roll.

"I trusted you," she said. "I even _loved_ you. But you've changed. You don't see, do you? You feed on the hatred of Muggles and Muggle-borns- of anyone different to us all. And where did that hatred come from, Gellert? They came from the days when Wizards and Witches were hunted down, tortured and burnt on the stake, when they were forced humiliatingly underground- a time of hatred. A time of violence. The Dark Ages, we called them. You don't want to turn back the clock to a Golden Age. You want the Dark Ages." She shook her head.

"I don't know who you are anymore, but I know that the Gellert I know would never bully mercilessly, much less slaughter mass innocents. You- _he_ , even rescued me from thugs. I thought you were mistaken and that your mistakes which got you expelled from Durmstrang was learnable. I thought that you would be better and so I forgave you for this. I never even mentioned your expulsion. I thought your little _experiments_ were harmless. But they were clearly intended to do harm. These, so-called experiments of yours, to build a universal 'Camelot'-" she sneered the word as if she was mocking it- "is no Utopia. It isn't even Camelot. Arthur never killed babies. Not even when he discovered that his own son would destroy Camelot."

Gellert's face twisted with rage. "That's because he was too weak! And then because of that he allowed the threat to grow like a weed, instead of plucking it out and allowing it to destroy all that he had built!" He screamed.

Katerina stared him down with a look of her own. That icy, strong and powerful gaze- like a queen.

She had married into the line of Arthur. Her new husband was of that line. And her children will be. She had made a commitment- a promise- and she would not throw it away for a foolish, childhood fantasy and fancy, who had turned out to be a monster- no, an abomination in the face of the earth.

And she would never tell Gellert of her new family. Katerina Alexios was now Katerina Artrigos of the line of Arthur.

"Weakness?" She asked quietly and icily. "Weakness is something you have aplenty, Gellert. You can never move on from the past. That is why you will taint the future with your hate and violence. You can _never_ move on." She took a deep breath and continued.

"I can't pretend. You've made your choice, and I've made mine. You've chosen your path, you've made your bed and now you must lie in it. But I will not walk the path you have chosen. You will _never_ want to move onto the past, to a future untainted by hate and mistrust. That is why we must say _farewell_ , now."

He stared at her, speechless.

Gellert Grindelwald had aged quicker than she was. While she appeared young, in her twenties, Gellert Grindelwald had aged. He was in his fifties, now. Fifty-seven, actually.

Lines caused by anger, rage, hate, determination, and worry had caused lines and grooves in his face. Not just age. They were deepening whereas Katerina remained as smooth and flawless as ever.

"Farewell, Gellert." She said quietly.

Grindelwald's face twisted with pain, grief and then rage.

"You would turn your back on me- on _us_?" He roared. "Everything I did, I did for _you_! I fought and took Muggles by force so that you- _we_ could live _free_. Without fear. Without shame! We would finally hold our heads high with pride. With me you didn't need to be afraid anymore. You didn't have to hide. You would be safe- saved from them- from their persecution, from the need to hide, from being _bothered_ , even! Do you think pacifism will save you? Do you think sitting idly by, twiddling your thumbs and praying for the heir of Arthur Pendragon to emerge will help _anyone_? Will help speed Camelot faster? Maybe if your people would speed things up a bit, my task would have been easier. I'm only doing this for _you_! For us all! And I planned so that you and I can lead them- can lead the world to a universal golden age! You and I can be at the head of it all, leading this world through a revolution that can change it- for the better! Things will get better, and now you turn your back on this, on _us_?" He screamed.

She turned around. "Go." She said. "You have not duelled me, _Gellert_ _Grindelwald_ , though you have tested the strengths of others. But remember, it was I who taught you many things. It was I who defeated you. And I am ready to defeat you again and again- don't think I will hesitate. You are not the same man I knew. That man never stood for thugs, much less murderers. I do not know who you are. Leave at once, and never bother us anymore least I turn my wand against you. You are not known to me."

Gellert Grindelwald froze. She couldn't see his face, and truth was, she didn't want to.

But from the corner of her eye, she saw pain, shock, grief, betrayal…

"You," he said slowly, "are a fool. And your loss will be unmeasured. You will regret this, Katerina Eirene Alexios. When you see me at the head of my army, a new world order at my back, you will regret that you have chosen to betray and turn your back to me. On all that we could have accomplished together. You will regret throwing in the dirt all that I have laid at your feet on bended knee! You will see me at the head of the new order and you will regret for you have failed!" He gave one last laugh. It was bitterness, hatred, and limitless rage in one sound. It was not the laugh that she had so loved and cherished. But this was not the same man. This was a monster.

"When the winds blow towards our enemies, in our favour, and you and the world finally opens your eyes, when I return, you will see, and finally know, what you threw like pearls before the swine in the mud!" He snarled.

She still had her back turned towards him. But she will not regret. She would _never_ regret. He had chosen his path. And there was no turning back. She would love and honour her new husband. He had chosen his path.

 _Artrigos_ , she thought. _I am Katerina Eirene Artrigos._

And she had made hers.

* * *

Katerina was silent as she told her story. Afterwards, she had come, sobbing and confessing to Andreas. She begged him- she didn't want to be alone that night. Yes, Rhaegar had been conceived that night. But not by Grindelwald. She took a deep breath.

"But that's not all," She said. "And this is the bitterest pill to swallow." She took a deeper breath.

"My father had married me off to Andreas because I am perfect to the bloodline of Arthur." She said. "All throughout the centuries there had been a breeding programme. We have never been idle, Rhaegar. All the centuries, there have been people, followers, who protect the bloodline of Arthur to the death. Carefully breeding them to the ones who would have the most desirable, protective traits to Arthur's heirs. I suspect Grindelwald and now, Voldemort knows this."

Rhaegar froze. "But that's crazy, you and Father never…"

"Your father and I were married off specifically to each other for that reason. I could have been married off to someone else. But I was the perfect mate for him, the perfect mother of his heirs. Or so the ones who controlled our breeding programme claimed. After our marriage I begged him to take me back to Britain so I could find out more- to get away from all the memories, as well as to investigate. I deduced that Grindelwald had been there as well- soon after he was expelled. I met with Dumbledore. He had met with Gellert Grindelwald too. He knew what the man was capable of. He knew also what Grindelwald dreamed. He dreamt of being the one to herald the new age by finding Arthur's descendants and using them as puppets. He also wanted to be the Master of Death."

Rhaegar shook his head. "Master of _Death_?" He asked incredulously. "What, is he searching for immortality?"

His mother acknowledged her head. "Perhaps. But he was certainly searching for the records of Arthur's descendants."

Rhaegar froze. "So that's why he went to Italy," he whispered. "There was someone who was there, wasn't there? That man and his wife… They're the ones who knew."

"They purposely burnt the records," Katerina said. "Just before they were captured. They don't know them by heart, and they are not the head overseers. But Germany had records to- Mystikawald- and that beautiful city. The head overseers escaped. But I can tell of several families who are descended from Arthur: ours and Elisabeth's are two of them. But there are more."

"And soon he will find out, for he is searching them." Rhaegar confirmed. "But how did he know that Elisabeth and Alexander were from them? I only found out about _us_ through subtle clues. Elisabeth- never until he told me."

Katerina winced. "Not everything was burnt. He managed to salvage something in Germany, apparently."

Rhaegar stared at her. "Then why didn't _we_ know of this? The military? This was an attack on our _people_ and our lands. Why didn't you tell anyone about this?"

"I am telling you _now_." Katerina replied. "And also I cannot risk word spreading. No one can. Not even the identity of the overseers, which is kept a strict secret. But you must know, and you must know _now_."

"Then why was I easily allowed to marry Alarissa?" Rhaegar demanded. "And why is no one is upset about Sigurd's paternity? Why were we not married off to people of selected choosing? Why did no one protest?"

"Because Alarissa's bloodline will only serve to strengthen and empower ours," Katerina said simply. "And Sigurd is destined to be as powerful as your child. Only Selwyn proved a concern as their family had been inbreeding with other Pure-blood families for so long. Unlike what those fool Pure-blood supremacists believe, marrying outside your race to a race as legendary and powerful as a magical folk does not weaken or pollute the bloodlines. These only make us stronger. Your child has a powerful destiny, Rhaegar. The Vǫlva confirmed it."

 _There it is again,_ he thought. She had a lot more power than anyone had ever assumed.

But Katerina's next words would shock his soul and heart.

"One more generation," she told me. "One more and your nephew and child and Alexander, shall be the ones who heralds Camelot."

He froze.

"No," he whispered.

Katerina winced. "Rhaegar-"

" _NO_!" He shouted. "My child will not be hunted and tortured the way we were! She will not suffer under the burden of destiny as we did!"

Katerina tried again. "Rhaegar-"

" _No_!" He screamed. "Not her! And not my nephew!"

He had to get them away from there, he thought. Alarissa and their baby….

Alarissa.

He swallowed. "I need to speak to her. I need to find out where he is targeting next, and what will give the next family away. I have to stop him, Mother, if I can't kill him. And I will try."

Katerina went paler than normal. "Rhaegar, you ca-"

"Don't tell me I can't!" He shouted. "What would you do for any of us?"

Katerina was silent. "I would not hesitate for an instant, and I would do the same," she said quietly. But tears brimmed in her eyes, the same as his, as she looked up. "But Rhaegar, I have already lost you once. Your child is unborn. Must you lose yourself before she comes into the world?" She was begging him. "If you do not think of me, at least think of your wife and child. They need you, even more than I." She whispered.

Rhaegar looked at her. No, he could not do this to Alarissa, or his unborn child. As for his mother.

He felt seriously ashamed of his bitterness towards her. Of course she would do anything to keep this hidden. Of course she could not speak of Grindelwald without suspicion being cast on their entire family, including him. And to keep this inside for so long, confiding in no one but his father…

Yes, he should have thought about this more clearly. And he felt ashamed.

His mother had four children. He had been kidnapped as a young boy, tortured and brutalised. Now that he was about to become a father himself, how could he survive if it was _his_ child? And there was his sister, taken by someone- or something- who also claimed to be her mother, who then walked out of the family home, not to make contact with any of them, who had married a monster, possibly more dangerous than Grindelwald, now hunting them. And then there was his brother- heartbroken and shattered, left the mere shell of the man he once was since the love of his life died- brutally killed. And his sister, about to marry into a dangerous group of people and then being kidnapped and held hostage. What _hadn't_ she suffered as a mother?

He felt more ashamed than ever. Because as an adult now, he should have known better.

 _Either I am seriously blind as an adult,_ hethought _. Or they have succeeded into turning me into a monster._

Either way, he needed to get things done. He had to get there before Voldemort destroyed everything he loved and cared for.

He needed to see the Vǫlva too. He had to be extra-careful.

* * *

"Who else knew?" He asked them. "The overseers," Harald replied. Rhaegar fixed his eyes on him and narrowed them. He looked very dangerous.

Clearly, Harald knew, whereas Rhaegar did not. He looked at his parents again.

Feelings of resentment bubbled up once more. It had been a while since their kitchen conversation.

"Just how easily do you share this information, Harald?" He asked icily. "It's quite clear your son is a Pendragon, now. I don't see Voldemort having fewer followers than those two." He referred to Olivia and Marcus Selwyn.

Harald winced. "Just how did Voldemort find out?" Rhaegar demanded. On the sofa in his mother's sitting room, Philomena sat, hands neatly folded upon her lap, her poise dignified, but she would not meet her brother's eyes.

"How in the world, did he manage to find bits of information- in Germany?"

"Or Greece," Harald looked very guilty. "There's something there."

"Oh?" Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Germany, Greece, Spain. There's very few countries that have the copies of the records." Harald muttered.

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes once more. "And the list is valid- for how long?"

"Up to forty-eight hours." Harald replied. "I warned them- they're going to transfer them into other countries."

Rhaegar froze. "And Voldemort may either be stupid enough to rob them in their safe places, or clever enough to go for them while they are being transferred. Either one is possible, but I think it more likely to be the latter. He's not strong enough just yet, and he doesn't want to get caught."

"If we do catch him though," Harald began but Rhaegar shook his head.

"The records are in danger now, but nowhere as much in danger as they are when they are being moved." He stated. Then he stood very still. "Have they already move it?"

Harald frowned. "I- I'm not sure."

Rhaegar snapped his head towards Harald.

* * *

The baby kicked. Alarissa opened her eyes with surprise.

Her pregnancy was still in its early stages. The child had a long way to go before emerging.

First, she felt joy and excitement. Then…

Then why was it stirring? She should have even felt it. She frowned.

"Rhaegar," she murmured. She wanted him here.

She got up, unsteadily. She wasn't any less graceful, but she did feel a bit out of her usual proportion, even though she had barely started showing.

She felt heavier, weighed down.

The baby was taking a great deal or her strength and energy, to develop its own. Not to mention the natural magic that lay inside her.

She carefully went downstairs.

Alarissa knew she was in no condition to go out. Naturally, among her people, in the now-rare event of a pregnancy, she would have been cloistered, guarded, monitored and cared for at all times.

But something was happening. And she could not help but fear for Rhaegar, her unborn child and for herself and all they cared for.

She picked up her mirror.

Just then she heard a _wooshing_ sound. Someone had appeared.

A young, androgynous-looking young man, somewhere between handsome in a masculine way or beautiful in a feminine fashion, appeared. His armour was of darkest bronze-brown coloured plates, with spikes jutting out from the pauldrons, and out from his boots, which were like black mirrors but not made from patent leather. Sheaths for knives and a sword, a bow slung over his back, made from black horn, an embroidered quiver full of deadly, black-tipped arrows, which Alarissa knew contained some of the deadliest toxins in the world, and a black helmet with copper swirls, and horns of rising from them. The Unseelie knight bowed to Alarissa.

Then another swoosh of darkness, and another figure appeared. This one was tall, strong-looking and dark with black robes of stunning richness, embroidered with black pearls and black diamonds at the stiff collar and cuffs, but it looked like it was fashioned out of darkness- of black smoke or something else entirely, not silk or satin as one would expect. His hair gleamed black but he had horns growing out of his head, black as ebony and polished-looking, also oiled. They curved regally inwards and his gleaming skin was like brown-black smoke, though when the light caught it, there appeared to be a flash of blue. His eyes were completely black but with silver points like stars. His features were handsome.

Alarissa curtsied. "Brother."

"Peace, sister." The Dark One said. Then another sound and another figure appeared… outside. There was a roar of frustration or outrage. Something was not happy it couldn't go in.

"Your husband's magic is very powerful," her brother mused. His eyes turned from completely black to completely blue. He chuckled, it was a dark sound that would have chilled any mortal. "My friend is not so pleased."

Alarissa sighed. "Brother, why did you bring him, then?"

"For protection." He replied simply with a shrug. "You know that the courts are restless. Everyone is anxious, frightened even, though it galls me to say. Eager to cut ties with the mortal world." Then he looked pointedly at her. "Although I say different."

Alarissa took a deep breath. " _They_ sent you here, didn't they?"

"They wouldn't if they didn't love you," he said. "You know them. And you know all Fey would rather die by torture than harm a child, especially one of their own." He looked pointedly at her belly. She was still not yet showing.

"You know them, and you know me," he said. "I lie, sister. But I can't lie about loving you or wanting to protect your child. Same with our siblings and parents, Seelie or Unseelie." Something hidden flexed behind his back, in the shadows he naturally created, blended by invisibility. His wings.

"Have you flown?" He asked. "Recently."

"You know I'm pregnant," she said. He smirked. "Of course, my apologies, what I meant to say was: did you fly since you got married?"

Alarissa flushed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He sighed. "Your choice, to forget or remember."

"I haven't forgotten," she protested. He gave her a pointed look. "Then you would be wise to keep remembering, Alarissa," he said softly. "For the time is drawing to a close. One generation more and the bloodline of Arthur would have the members necessary to rebuild Camelot- or be destroyed."

She did not move.

"Your husband's family is very old," he said softly. "Unlike you, I was old enough to remember when Britain lived in Dark Times- as did most of Europe. The Romans had left. In fact, Rome had fallen. The Celts were being threatened by the Saxons, who would eventually be threatened by the Vikings once they had settled. And this was before the Normans themselves came. The Celts had their own language, largely forgotten. _Artos_ in their tongue, meant bear. _Rigos_ meant king. The origins of the name Arthur. Artrigos. Clever of your husband's family, isn't it? How long until someone else finds out?"

She stared at him. Alarissa felt faint. Fey don't get morning sickness, nor did they feel the pain and discomfort on the same level as humans did, but at that moment, Alarissa felt weak. "No," she breathed.

"I thought Azalon and Dyllenae would have told you," he said quietly.

"No," she said again, loudly. "All Atlanteans admire Arthur,"

"Yet to claim the same name as his is a death-wish." Her brother replied. His eyes turned back to black. "Do you still wish to remain here?" His eyes turned the colour of flame, betraying his displeasure, if not his anger. He cocked an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. They _did_ tell you. But you didn't believe them, did you? You didn't want to believe them. A very human weakness. You've gone native, sister."

Alarissa didn't answer. "Perhaps your own husband will convince you soon enough," he said easily. Alarissa glared at him. He laughed a chilling laugh. "Oh, come now, sister. Do you really think your formidable and frightening husband, is stupid and weak enough to be manipulated by anyone, even me? No, but even he sees the reason our Seelie kin feels so strongly for. You used to feel it too, until love appeared." His eyes were black again as he regarded her.

He waved his hand. The doors unlocked. "Go. Your husband will be here soon. He'll tell you all about it." Then winds appeared, howling and icy, clouds of darkness swirled around them. Outside, the 'friend' of her brother's, roared and they all disappeared, leaving Alarissa standing staring at empty space.

She pressed her hand to her belly and looked down.

The wards warned her that Rhaegar would be arriving very soon.

She had to meet him.

* * *

Rhaegar closed his eyes, fearful, gathering all his strength to face his wife. He needed to speak to her.

As it turned out, Alarissa was waiting for him.

There she was in a pink negligée and a white silk dressing gown, sitting in the sitting room.

She looked up when she saw him.

Hepaused. _What in the world was he going to tell her?_

He took a deep breath. "Alarissa-"

"My brother came to visit me," she said quietly, all of a sudden. In fact, most of my siblings have been visiting me ever since I found out I was with child- even though I haven't told them.

He stared at her. "What?"

She looked at him, her face a mask of anguish. "Is it true? Our child carries the blood of Arthur Pendragon?"

He swallowed. "Yes." He spoke through a tightening throat. "My father- Andreas, not Grindelwald after all- is descended from Arthur. I just found out."

Alarissa could not disguise the agony she felt internally. Nor the tears of grief and fear in her eyes.

Rhaegar instantly went to her side. "Alarissa-"

"They all told me," she said. "I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to see you or our child hunted. But they told me."

He bit his lip. Pain flashed across his face. "I would take it away if I could," he said. "Take it all away."

She shook her head. "You saved me from monsters when we were only children. But you cannot save us from destiny. You cannot save our child." She looked down at her still flat belly.

For the most agonizing and helpless moment of his life, Rhaegar looked at her. It was far worse being helpless and crippled with terror and deepest fears, with an uncertain future, than it was facing an enemy army _en_ _masse_. For a split second, then, he knew what to do.

Their child and Alarissa were the most important things in his life. He would sooner die by torture than to separate with either of them in such circumstances, especially when they had waited and longed for a child for so long, but it would be infinitely far worse to lose them to torture and death. He made a decision.

"It doesn't have to be this way." He whispered. "Your parents…" he swallowed. "I would rather die a million deaths in the worst possible way, but I would rather lose you to have you both safe, than to lose both of you to death and captivity." He took a deep breath. "Contact your parents. Ask them… Permission to create a changeling situation once more. Go to them. Have the child and let it grow in safety."

Her head snapped upwards at him. "You can't be serious," she whispered. Rhaegar took a deep breath and told her everything he had just found out.

"Alarissa, I would risk and face the worst for you and our child," he said. His own eyes, as anguished as hers, gazed upon her ones. "He knows you are my weakness. And he knows that I know what he is aiming for. And if he discovers we are having a child… If this is how he reacts to Muggle-borns, imagine how he treats hybrids. How long before he finds out about my bloodline?"

She shivered in her fear.

"This is Sigurd's _father_?" She whispered. "No," Rhaegar's face darkened. "This is Sigurd's sire, not his father. A father would never do the things he did. A true father would not use his child as a pawn or a puppet, or a tool. He never loved Athelinda truly, he may have come close, I'll give him that, but he never truly loved her. Or maybe he did, but he felt like he _owned_ her- not like actual love. He only needs a mirror to see his one true love." He laughed harshly.

Rhaegar pressed his lips together. "I'd give anything to be selfish, but it's not something I can escape. And to be selfish is putting you in harm's way. And our child's…" He trailed off, his face a mask of agony.

Alarissa took a deep breath. "Rhaegar,"

"Alarissa," he countered. "If you can contact your parents soon enough, we'll have time to-"

" _No_."

Rhaegar stared at her. "Alarissa, what-"

"You heard me. I said, _no_."

Rhaegar felt his jaw- normally composed- drop. "What, are you saying-" he rambled, for the first time in his life, rather stupidly.

"Yes. I am not leaving you. And our child is not going to grow up without a father."

" _What_?!" Rhaegar suddenly stood. "But-"

"Rhaegar," Alarissa's voice took on an uncharacteristic firmness. "I know. I would do anything and everything- I would die in the worst ways possible, in an infinite number of times to keep our child from harm, and I would even kill on a mass scale for her. But I know that if we did this, she would resent this- even us- and we would bitterly regret our decision. Even if we have a good reason, it will not shield her for long. It will only make her more vulnerable when the time comes and she is utterly unfamiliar with the human world. No one can escape destiny, Rhaegar. And this child has her destiny planned out for her already. Ask your seeress. Ask any seer." She took a deep breath.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do to give her immortality, but immortality from a Fey does not mean that she will be invulnerable when death comes for her in the form of Dark Magic or evil weapons. She can still die. And destiny will find her. Furthermore..." She trailed off.

Pause.

"Rhaegar," she whispered. "He's breaking _families_ apart. Families who deserve to stay together. He wants division. He wants children to grow up hating what is different from themselves. He wants the pawns isolated and vulnerable and in his hands. If that is what he wants, there is nothing I won't do to make sure that is what he never gets- especially when it is our child that he may want next. So far, he hasn't discovered that your family is the heirs to the Pendragons' lineage. But I have a feeling he will soon enough. And with Sigurd the heir of Slytherin as well, he will want his own blood in his hands and under his control, as his puppet and tool, whereas all potential 'rivals' such as Harald's son and our daughter, will be wiped out. And as she is a hybrid..." She whispered.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep his goals out of his reach." She said. "And I will fight to the bitter end and beyond to make sure our family and all others stay together. For the sake of all everyone. Including our child."

* * *

 _ **This post comes late, and it was hard to finish. The Jakarta attacks a few days ago, where I am currently on holiday, left me reeling. It was very close to where we are living for the moment. R.I.P to the ones who died.**_

 _ **So, Grindelwald is not Rhaegar's father. Yes, we know what Grindelwald was after in Britain. As mentioned Alarissa was one of fifty siblings- sort of like the Nereids in Greek mythology or the Oceanids. The Fey in mythology, are divided into two courts- the Seelie and Unseelie. The Seelie are the ones that are generally classified as the friendlier and kinder, more helpful ones- such as repaying favours, keeping the house clean, guarding the thresholds, cooking and repairing broken things, bringing back lost children who wandered into the forest. The Unseelie are the more dangerous, darker ones. More inclined to violence, preferring to harm rather than help, as the**_ **Mortal** **Instruments** _ **series said. They assault travellers, beat them, force them to harm others or destroy property, steal things and no offense is needed for them to assault others. Alarissa is of the Seelie. So were her three, previously-seen siblings. But the one that appeared in this chapter was an Unseelie. And although she knows he loves her, she doesn't really trust him, not with her human relatives and friends.**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Choices and Consequences**

" _ **The fact that good people can be forced to do wrong doesn't make them less good. But it also doesn't make the wrong less wrong."**_

 _ **Ovadya ben Malka.**_

Voldemort, formerly Tom Riddle stood in front of the two siblings. Marcus and Olivia Selwyn had both collapsed of exhaustion after their punishment.

And quite honestly he had been enraged. They should have known they were being tricked.

Now his wife and son were off the radar. Alexander and Elisabeth Avantador had both vanished, and knowing Rhaegar, they would all be far away from his reach or any possible way to locate them.

Philomena Artrigos, their hostage, was now in back in Rhaegar's hands.

Not to mention his very name, Voldemort, was now known, earlier than he had planned.

 _Soon they will tremble,_ hethought _._ Now he was being hunted. All thanks to Rhaegar Artrigos.

Voldemort would do anything to have him dead- but he could not beat him physically.

What was his weakness- it was well-known. His own family.

Voldemort's face looked like spoiled milk when he recalled that Rhaegar had actually married a _creature_ \- a non-human, alien _thing_ \- that he had reportedly rescued from his captors.

The first reaction when hearing that Rhaegar had at any time been captured, was to snort.

As if anyone was capable of capturing Rhaegar. But then, as he thought about it, Voldemort realised that this story rang true.

Rhaegar had been captured by slavers who had handed him over to the Children of the Endless Night.

No wonder he had been so fearless. So unstoppable. So terrifyingly dangerous. Because he had been trained, whipped, tortured, to kill without mercy, without fear of dying (like a dumb beast, he thought scornfully, though Rhaegar certainly wasn't one), why pain did not deter him one bit.

No wonder he had been so savage, so merciless and ruthless when dealing the torture curse on Voldemort.

Because he had been one of those child-soldiers. Those brutalised little slaves who were turned into fighting and killing machines to slaughter entire masses.

Voldemort's lips twitched. _If_ _only_ _they_ _knew_.

But he could not risk it. He needed to hasten his plans, due to the Selwyns' failure.

But new problems had to be overcome first.

He needed to buy them some time.

And that he would.

But things occurred to Voldemort that he never would have suspected.

Until now.

* * *

Rhaegar took a deep breath. So he wasn't the child of Grindelwald. But he was the child of Andreas Artrigos, which meant that he was a descendant of Arthur.

He was the one Dark Lords and Ladies had been looking for, him, and his child. And by extension, his wife.

Maybe people would call him pessimistic, but really they were in more danger than he could have possibly imagined.

He closed his eyes unwilling for her to be sickened by the desperation in his eyes. They had already come close to taking his youngest sister away from them. He could not protect them.

Somehow, he knew he was running out of time.

"We need to go into exile, then." He said finally. He knew that Alarissa would not be discouraged. "If we are to stay together, then… Wait for me, somewhere, Alarissa. You are pregnant. We need to keep the baby safe. I… I can't abandon them at the moment."

Alarissa swallowed and nodded. Husband and wife held each other tightly. "We will see each other again," she whispered. "I have foreseen it. In this life. And you will raise our child with me."

Rhaegar knew they would. He nodded, swallowing back unknown tears, and his own grief, pain and fears.

Athelinda was gone. Philomena was currently crying in her bedroom, inconsolable. She had been betrayed. Normally, Rhaegar would not have much patience with such behaviour, but now he understood. When one had been innocent for so long, being jarred into harsh reality was a terrible thing. Out of the four of them, only Philomena had been spared the shock and trauma which her three eldest siblings had experienced. She had been coddled and sheltered. And she had been exposed all too suddenly, and all too violently to this new world in which her eldest brother had grown up in.

Being exposed to a world of cruelty, violence and brutality at an early age, having been tortured and starved, Rhaegar's worst fear was himself. His worst hatred, apart from Voldemort and Grindelwald, was himself and the ones who had brutalised him. Why him?

 _Because I can't be certain that I won't harm anyone else,_ hethought.

Besides that, he had never felt worthy of Alarissa in any way. Or his child. But he would claw his way out of the worst circle of hell for the ones he loved and cared for. Ever since he discovered what the world was capable of there was nothing, nothing he wouldn't do to keep his loved ones safe.

There was nothing he wanted more than to see his loved ones and friends safe. And while you could say that everyone else wanted that, Rhaegar had a particular desire and determination, to carry it out.

 _Or an obsession,_ he admitted silently. And after all he had been through, could anyone blame him? And after finding all what he had just found in less than two days…

There had to be someone on the inside- well, numerous people, actually. The way the Selwyns disapparated- they can't have been the only ones caught in the plan on the inside. The restaurant had wards.

And someone else. Someone who had access to the record of Pendragon descendants.

Rhaegar felt a chill. _They've infiltrated us,_ he thought. Either that or Elisabeth's father had a _really_ big mouth. And human mouths could not be _that_ big. He himself did not know of Elisabeth's heritage until now.

The stage is set, he thought. What now? What should any of them do? What would Voldemort do? Who was to make the first move and could any of them be ready for that time?

He had no answers. He could only seek out the person he didn't really want to seek out- the Vǫlva.

But not yet. He had no time.

* * *

 _Mycenae, Peloponnese Peninsula, Greece…._

He strode calmly into the sitting room of the owner. His wife, an attractive witch of nearly forty, was bound by several of his Knights. The couple's three children, however, had fled. So they had to resort to other, more difficult, methods to get them to talk.

"Well?" He asked calmly. "I am getting impatient, Pavlos. You could tell me where I can find the last heirs of the House of Pendragon- the _other_ heirs, apart from Elisabeth Avantador and her son- and I will let you live. There will be no need for pain, no need for bloodshed. It will be easy, so swift and painless, so simple."

The man, dark-haired, dark-eyed Pavlos, gave out a low growl.

* _"To κακό βρωμιά!"_ He snarled. "Do you think you can threaten or bribe us in any way to forswear our oath and place our world- _and_ our _people_ \- in danger?! You are nothing, less than a demon of hell, you piece of evil _σκατά_!" **

His eyes narrowed. But only visible to Pavlos himself. "Very well then. If that is what you wish."

Out of the shadows, his Knights robed in black and masked, dragged three small children in front of them, wands at their throats.

" _Όχι!"_ He cried. His wife screamed and struggled against her captors. The children cried.

Voldemort regarded them quietly, with eyes and demeanour like ice. "You see, Pavlos? I've always kept my word. And I will give my word now: give me what I want, and I shall let you all go unharmed."

Pavlos looked at the straining forms of his children. He swallowed, tears of anguish and desperation in his eyes.

"You see?" Voldemort asked quietly. "It would be unfair to let the children go when they have made no such oath swearing commitment to an ancient dynasty long-gone."

He no longer had a choice.

"Artrigos." Pavlos whispered. "Artrigos. They are members of Arthur's bloodline."

Voldemort froze. Shock permeated his very being. His eyes widened. "Artrigos? Impossible. You lie."

"No," Pavlos shook his head desperately. "The name- comes from, _Artos_ , and _Rigos_ \- Bear King, in Celtic. The same meaning as the name Arthur."

Voldemort stood very still. Still frozen he remembered. He had married an Atlantean woman, because her bloodline would purify the Muggle taint on Slytherin's unblemished noble lineage, and because he wanted her. Not that he had any intention of dying. Why else would he create those horcruxes?

But if he had to be honest with himself, he wanted her, and felt that she belonged to him.

Athelinda had been very- well, extremely beautiful, innocent, and yet she was cunning as a snake, sharp, fiendishly determined, and devilishly ambitious. At eleven, Voldemort remembered she was more proficient at her spellwork than most over-age Wizards and Witches. And she had been fantastically, captivatingly proud. That was only a small part of her amazing allure. She was Atlantean. Everyone knew that.

But after a while of researching the Atlanteans, the Volsung, King Arthur, Merlin and Morgana le Fay and the rest of the Pendragon dynasty, it came to his attention that the Artrigos family still remained in Britain. Their explanation: they were waiting for the ones both Wizards and Muggles called, 'The Once and Future King.' As loyal and proud supporters over the centuries, they would wait. They would stay in Britain until the day Arthur, or is descendants came back and fulfil the long-awaited prophecy of a world-wide Golden Age, like Camelot, except for all the Wizarding nations of the world. Because of that, it would never have occurred to Voldemort- or anyone- that they might be the descendants themselves. _Hiding in plain sight,_ he thought.

Athelinda's beauty, magical power, intelligence and pride suddenly made much more sense. She had reason to be proud- not like those fools whom Voldemort easily took advantage of, whose puny bloodlines paled in comparison to hers. Very pale indeed, he thought.

Voldemort would have smiled- if there were not someone else present.

"Very well, Pavlos." He said quietly. "You have proven your worth. I will let you- and your family- live. Lord Voldemort keeps his word, Pavlos, remember that. But always remember: we are watching."

And he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke and Pavlos was left with the horrifying, sinking feeling that he was still being watched- that those reddening eyes.

And a horrible feeling of terrible guilt.

 _What have I done?_

* * *

Rhaegar knew time was running out. If Voldemort hadn't figured it out yet, he would, very, very soon.

He scowled at the memory of Harald and Elisabeth. They had stubbornly refused. But Rhaegar's eyes flashed and using his authority as a senior officer in comparison to Harald Avantador, they at least decided to hide. But not very far from where they usually lived- they being under the impression that that was where they would least expect the family to hide.

Fools, Rhaegar thought. If Voldemort was as sharp as Riddle had been in Hogwarts, then they stood no chance. _He_ wasn't risking his wife and unborn child.

Rhaegar walked all the way to the wooden cottage, built out of oak, pine and beech. He took a deep breath. The star-shaped opening cut into the front door showed that the lights were on. He knocked.

"Finally." The voice, a smoky, mystical lady's voice, "Hurry and come in. Time is running short. Rhaegar Artrigos, your secret has been discovered. You and all your loved ones, are in great peril."

Rhaegar swallowed.

The Vǫlva, an elderly lady in a black cloak and hood, looked up at him.

"Take this."

She handed him a package wrapped black silky cloth. He blinked in confusion.

"What is it?"

The thing was small. It required only one hand to carry it.

"You will be able to open it when the time comes." It was a box, carved of golden oak, with designs of acorns, squirrels and branches embossed and carved around it. "For now it is sealed with magic. Keep it in the wrapping."

Rhaegar frowned. "The wrapping?"

"It is made out of the skin of a lethifold." Rhaegar nearly dropped it.

"WHAT?!" How in the world did she even manage to kill one of those was beyond him.

"It's a long story, and no, I didn't kill it," the Vǫlva said smoothly. "But look inside only when the time comes. I'm afraid, you do not have much time, Rhaegar Artrigos. Not if you wish to save your wife, child and the rest of your family from a horrible fate before they are ready. For you see, he already knows."

Rhaegar stared at her.

"Just teach me how to save them." Rhaegar finished.

* * *

Alarissa hesitated. She couldn't help it.

Her hands pressed against her belly.

"No," she whispered. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

"That's a pity," a voice replied, and she whirled around to find a man.

He was no longer handsome. It was as if his features had been made out of wax, and then half-melted. His eyes were veined with red. His skin was bone-white.

"Voldemort," Alarissa said calmly. She regally moved around to face him fully.

"What do you wish?" She asked icily.

He stepped forwards. "The boy," he stated. "Where is he?"

"He left the country," Alarissa replied calm as ever. "With his mother. Not even I know where they went. But better exile than a life of servitude- apparently that's what Athelinda believed.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "The heirs of Arthur." He said finally. "Did you know it was your husband's family?"

"Not until recently," Alarissa still serene, replied. "It was quite a shock, I assure you."

"Yes," Voldemort replied, cocking his head to one side. "I'm sure it was."

"Athelinda never knew herself," she said simply. "Did you?"

Voldemort scoffed. "Did you think I would target the Avantadors if I knew?"

"Then why marry her?" Alarissa questioned. "You carry one of the world's most powerful sorcerers' bloodline inside your veins. She was Atlantean, yes, but she wasn't the only Atlantean, let's be frank. There were others, not very many but yes, others."

Silence that echoed louder than thunder. "So why marry her?" Alarissa questioned. "Why produce the heir destined for greatness?"

More silence.

"Unless," Alarissa continued. "Of course. You must have felt something. I doubt you are really capable of love, but you must have felt something. She's quite an extraordinary woman. Not so different from you, yourself, I was told."

There was an even longer silence.

"The boy is gone, Voldemort," she told him. "Not even I know where he lives now. All I know is that there are few who would ever forgive you- and that your doom will come soon, but at a power which you have never cared to learn, never understood and always scorned. It will be the person from the most unlikely place that would stand against you and win." She smiled.

"Your estranged wife is not the only one with the gift of prophecy," Alarissa told him.

Voldemort's face contorted with rage. His eyes flared red- though not quite the scarlet Alarissa sensed it would someday be.

He swished back in a movement that no human would have registered in their minds quick enough, flying, whipping out his wand and pointed at her.

" _Avada Kevadra!"_ He shrieked.

The explosion was heard throughout the whole county. Sheep jumped, screamed and bleated, desperately pawing to get back to the safety of their pens.

Farmers jumped and dropped pails of milk or animal feed and the dogs jumped, barking, while the horses reared and screamed, whinnying in terror.

But Alarissa had been prepared. She had been expecting this.

Her hands moved, whirling, summoning the green light of the killing curse, circulating and compressing them with her hands, at her middle before hurling it back.

She made sure it didn't hit Voldemort- not much point anyway. He had horcruxes.

But the blast echoed much too loud.

The room in front of her was a mess, but they could easily move that back in place and mend things broken. Voldemort lay on the ground, covered in rubble and bits of building material. He was wheezing, his eyes wide, his face bloodless and in a state of total shock.

"How mortal you are," she murmured to him. "And how limited by your mortality. My husband's mortality did not stop him from seeing the other side- what is beyond death. That makes him more powerful and infinitely stronger than you. What many mortals fail to understand is that their mortality is only limited as much as to their willing to accept and understand that death of any kind, is not something to be feared, is not something which is the end. You are only limited on the fears of your mortality."

Voldemort wheezed and breathed heavily as Alarissa looked down on him.

"I am no longer mortal," he breathed.

Alarissa cocked her head to one side.

"That is what you believe, but as I said, your downfall will come and there is nothing you can do to prevent it."

Voldemort's face twisted with rage. "You cannot harm one of the Fey," Alarissa said. She clapped her hands and off she flew.

Light poured in from various sources in the rooms. The few lamps that were not already extinguished, or from lights outside. They came in, rushing in a manner of all colours, a riot of them, as if they had hit crystal swirling together and surrounded her in a cocoon of light and colours, pulling her, transporting her away.

* * *

Rhaegar rushed back to the scene of the crime.

The room was destroyed. There was no evidence of Alarissa.

Or Voldemort for that matter.

Swallowing down his fear, he held his wand aloft.

" _Priori_ _Incantatem,"_ he murmured.

Magic. To his fear and horror, Rhaegar saw evidence of the Killing Curse. He had to remind himself that as a Fey, Alarissa was one of the only race of beings that could shield herself against the Killing Curse.

He swallowed. That was what she did. She must have caught Voldemort by surprise. But he had a feeling she would be in graver danger if Voldemort saw a power that strong that could be a threat to his own.

He closed his eyes.

She was gone. And he knew Voldemort would be gone as well.

The question was: Where were they _now_ , and how did Voldemort get _in_ here?

Alarissa's magic and his own warded threats that would otherwise annihilated them.

Rhaegar knew full well that no one- _no_ _one_ \- could have possibly breached the wards, but somehow Voldemort did.

Rhaegar's first thought was that they had been betrayed. But no- no one could have manipulated those wards. Only he and Alarissa. Not even his parents.

On that matter, Rhaegar brushed it aside and desperately tried to find Alarissa.

Casting some wards around them, he also placed tracking spells.

He would go after Voldemort as well.

He knew why- he wanted revenge.

* * *

Alarissa knew she didn't have much time.

She knew that if Voldemort hadn't discovered she was carrying a baby, he would discover it soon enough.

And he would slaughter her baby inside her. The baby would never take her first breath.

She needed to get away fast.

The problem was, she couldn't count on her own family and people.

The likely chances were that if they did find her, they would take her and her baby, possibly perform a powerful spell that erased from her mind all memories about her husband, and a desire to leave them, and her baby would never know her father, and she would never see Rhaegar again.

The Seelie might think they were acting in her best interests, but they would still do it- they knew about the father, but they would- albeit with guilt- still proceed. The Unseelie would take her, keep her baby safe, and raise it as one of them- for the good of their whole race. They wouldn't care less about the father, even brutally murder him if he tried to find them, which Rhaegar would do.

No, she couldn't go to them- not unless as a _very_ final resort.

Atlanteans cities- there had to be traitors- Alarissa wasn't stupid. Someone had betrayed the Avantadors. They would betray the Artrigos. There was only one person she could trust and one person she could go to.

"Winny," She whispered.

There was _crack_ and Winny, her parents-in-law's house elf appeared.

"Mistress!" She squeaked.

"You have to take me to Hogwarts" Alarissa breathed. She was vulnerable, in her pregnant state and she had already used copious amounts of her magic. That was not good at all. It exhausted her, and could endanger the life of her baby that way. Furthermore, the baby was sure to have magic. If she were a witch and her husband an ordinary wizard, then there was a chance that they baby would be a squib. But her husband was Atlantean- Arthur's blood, no less. And she was one of the Fey. Her baby's strength and magic- which was the root to her very existence- needed to develop properly, and she couldn't exhaust herself with magic either. It wouldn't have exhausted her in the least if she hadn't been pregnant, but she needed to eat far more often and rest as well, than she normally would.

Winny would have to take them to Hogwarts.

* * *

A _Crack_ appeared, and Albus Dumbledore looked up, recognising the noise and realising it was a House Elf. What he didn't expect was Alarissa being there.

"Headmaster," Alarissa murmured.

"Lady Alarissa," Dumbledore replied. "Or should I call you-"

"Please, be careful," Alarissa warned him. "Voldemort has attacked me. I escaped. My husband does not know where I am. Can you please…" Her voice trailed off and she winced, clutching her belly.

Dumbledore's eyes focused sharply. He instantly knew.

He stood and took her hand, supporting her back. He guided her to a stuffed armchair. He gave her some pumpkin juice.

"Perhaps I should summon some potions?" Dumbledore enquired.

Alarissa frowned. "That would be most helpful, Headmaster, however, I am not sure that human potions will be… digestible to one such as myself, I regret to say."

"Oh, I assure you," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling slightly. "That if the potions will not harm a human, they are less likely to harm one of the Fey. And besides, this child is half human, is it not?"

"True," Alarissa sighed. "How very true."

Dumbledore summoned and poured out more potions.

He handed her a goblet. The goblet was scanned, covertly by Alarissa's magic. Despite Dumbledore's careful reasoning, she could never be too careful.

She swallowed its contents, and she felt instantly reinvigorated. Normally supplement potions from human mages would not have affected her, but again, it was probably her being pregnant with a half-human child and feeling what the child felt.

Dumbledore busied himself sending a message to Rhaegar. It was very secret. He was sure it would go to Rhaegar and no one else, wherever he was.

"He came?" Dumbledore asked, referring to Voldemort.

"Yes, Voldemort came. And his real name is-"

"Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said gravely. "Yes, I know."

She stared at him. "You _knew_?"

"I've suspected for a very long time what Tom Riddle wanted," Dumbledore went on. "He wanted power. He wanted glory. He was deprived of love and therefore, he learned to hate it. He may have secretly craved it, but he truly loved himself, though your husband's sister came close. Love was something to be scorned and mocked for Tom Riddle. He never showed it. Never seemed anything more than the handsome, well-mannered, intelligent, highly skilled and charming student during his time here."

"Rhaegar told me he was surrounded by flocks of people- his friends." Alarissa found herself saying.

"Friends?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose up. "No, I don't think so. Not friends. Tom Riddle has never had a close friend in his entire life- perhaps, again, Athelinda came close. He met his match in her- she was something he wanted to possess, but he never fully did have her in his control. His so-called friends, are _followers_ , my lady. They comprised of the weaker students who wanted protection, the thuggish bullies who sought a leader who could show them more _outstanding_ forms of cruelty. And of course, the ambitious, who seeing this brilliant student, this seemingly powerful student, who was merely a boy…" Dumbledore trailed off, and sighed heavily, passing his hand over his face.

Alarissa looked down.

She had never been a student. She had never been human. How was she to know what Tom Riddle felt, but why had he acted this way? Her own husband was captured, tortured and forced to fight and brutally slaughter the masses as a child. That alone would have driven him mad with guilt, or in the very least, killed his own conscience. Yet, nothing of the sort had happened to Rhaegar.

Tom Riddle, she doubted, had ever faced torture or clear threat of death at such an age. But Tom Riddle…

"Who was his father? Who was his mother?" She asked.

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. He removed his half-moon spectacles and sat down.

"His father was a Muggle, I believe," he said slowly. "A wealthy, handsome son of an English landowning member of the gentry named Tom Riddle, same as him." Dumbledore paused before continuing.

"His mother was a witch. She came from an old family, the Gaunts."

Alarissa frowned. "They're not people that I am familiar with. My husband's family sometimes have these parties and gatherings. I believe I am familiar with every name of every prominent family, but _Gaunt_ is not one of them."

"No, I should think not," Dumbledore said quietly. "The House of Gaunt lost all its fortunes a long time ago. Many times their offspring married their first cousins in order to keep their bloodlines pure, which of course, made their descendants all the more unstable.

Alarissa cringed. She knew all about that. Her people were the Fey. Being limited in number made the Fey desperate. After marrying their own kin, many of her people bore children who were physically deformed- by the standards of the Fey- or born somehow, so feeble, their magic were severely lacking. This of course, led to the tradition of the Changeling Practice, whereupon frail fey babies were swapped with healthy human ones, and through a series of complex and powerful magical rituals, they were turned into Fey. They served the purpose of bringing fresh, strong blood back into the communities. The Fey made absolutely certain with their magic, to choose their adoptive parents of their babies carefully- so that both infants grew up within loving homes. Yet the practice was always controversial- especially among wizards who did not hesitate to speak to her about it, no matter how rude her husband thought it. It had been banned of course.

"The lack of a stable mind and a healthy constitution saw the Gaunts squander all their gold, that by the generation of Marvolo Gaunt, Tom Riddle's grandfather, and his two children, they were steeped in poverty for generations."

Alarissa winced. Her in-laws thankfully, knew better. How is it that most wizards didn't?

"So, his daughter…" She trailed off.

"Yes, Merope was Voldemort's mother," Dumbledore said softly.

"They fell in love?" Alarissa questioned.

"No, I do not believe so, at least, not on his part," was the response.

Alarissa's eyes widened. "Oh?"

"I thought it highly unlikely," Dumbledore continued. "That such a young man, famed for his looks, and, you must forgive me, quite shallow and arrogant as well as wealthy, would look upon what he believed to be a tramp and his children. As you may have known, generations of inbreeding can cause certain… Physical deformities as well as mental ones."

"Oh," was all she said.

"So then how…" She trailed off and her eyes widened.

"She didn't."

"That," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I'm afraid is the only possible explanation."

She blinked. "No other possibilities? Could there be any way for her to… Change her appearance?"

"Unless it was through Polyjuice potion, then no, I'm afraid a love potion, is the only possible way," Dumbledore explained.

Alarissa felt ill. Even the Unseelie did not breach the boundaries of such things. Love was sacred. How was it that something like this could be almost common amongst mortal wizards?

"And besides," Dumbledore continued, "He married her, and the whole town knew about it."

"Oh." She said again.

"They eloped, and apparently young Merope was pregnant by the time Riddle decided to leave her."

Alarissa's eyes widened. "He _left_ her?"

"Yes." Here Dumbledore turned graver than ever. "He left her. It is highly likely that she halted giving him the potion, if that was the case. Whatever the reason, Tom Riddle Senior apparently left her without a single Muggle penny or a knut to his pregnant wife."

Alarissa was too shocked to speak. "But… Why?" She whispered. "Why did she stop giving him the potion? And in the very least, he could have stayed to look after his child? And what happened to her" She choked out.

"She sold her precious family heirloom- priceless and ancient- to Mr Borgin in Knockturn Alley," Dumbledore said much quieter now. "For ten Galleons."

"Ten?" Alarissa breathed.

"He is not a generous man," Dumbledore sighed. "Merope was glad in any case, desperate as she was, and on one New Year's Eve, she stumbled upon the doorstep of an orphanage in London, wet and snowing as it was. Within hours she gave birth to a son she named after his father and died." Dumbledore breathed out heavily.

"That can't be good," Alarissa breathed. Even when practising something as highly controversial as the exchange of babies, her own people had been meticulous in the selection of the families into which the babies would be exchanged.

She of all people knew the damage of a loveless, and possibly abusive institution with little or no familiarity for the children that it was supposed to love and care for, could do. She had seen them. As a young Fey, Alarissa had guided lost children back to their homes, and to her everlasting regret, she guided one back to an orphanage. The misery and hopelessness, the dull listlessness of the children, she admittedly dabbled a bit more than their laws allowed them to. She guided some of them to somewhere remote. Some of them, admittedly became changelings themselves, brought into the Fey's realm.

"No," Dumbledore agreed. "I do believe that his upbringing in the orphanage, and the realisation of who his father was, played into his character, amongst _other_ influences."

Alarissa shook her head. Even her husband's brutal treatment had afforded him knowledge of good and evil, and he had been loved.

His home had been a good one.

"So, where is the Muggle now?" She asked rage flaring up inside of her.

"Dead," Dumbledore murmured. Her eyes widened. "The Killing Curse. Morfin Gaunt, brother to Merope, confessed the crime. But that is not the only issue. The problem that concerns me is that the locket Merope sold was in the possession of Voldemort."

Alarissa was instantly suspicious. "Did he buy it back?" She asked.

"I do not believe so." Dumbledore responded. "You see Caractus Burke sold it to a certain witch named Hepzibah Smith. A very rich and very old collector of items, which Tom Riddle had seen not long before her death. A tragic accident," Dumbledore went on, seemingly unaware Alarissa had frozen. "Her House Elf, Hokey admitted to accidentally lacing her mistress' cocoa not with sugar, but with poison." Alarissa gripped the arms of her chair. "Not long afterwards, Tom Riddle married your sister-in-law, and she wore that locket."

Alarissa's eyes widened. " _That_ locket?"

The one which was a Horcrux."

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "And there is more. It seems that that locket one belonged to Salazar Slytherin's family. Hence the letter inlaid in green gems."

Alarissa looked astonished. "Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of this very school?"

"The very same." Dumbledore now looked older than ever and more grieved.

"But how did the Gaunt family got hold of it?"

Dumbledore looked up. "Because they were descendants of Slytherin."

Alarissa felt as if the ground had been swept from beneath her feet (not usually troubling as she was Fey, but now was different), everything was spinning and turning dark, and she felt dangerously cold.

Dumbledore looked more worn than ever.

"This means," he continued. "That the Chamber of Secrets incident during your husband's final year at Hogwarts was opened by none other than Tom Riddle."

Alarissa's head snapped up. "That was when-"

"Yes," Dumbledore stated. "When the Chamber of Secrets which Slytherin supposedly built, was opened, by the heir of Slytherin- none other than Tom Riddle."

And Sigurd, Alarissa thought, feeling ill. He carried Slytherin's blood.

Along with Arthur's and Merlin's.

"What will you do?" She whispered. "He has to be stopped."

"I have no doubt that he will," Dumbledore looked straight at her. He replaced his half-moon spectacles. "But the problem remains of your nephew and child."

Alarissa looked up at him fearfully.

"They'll take Sigurd and his mother away, won't they?" She asked. "If Voldemort doesn't find them, Sigurd and Athelinda will be hunted down and placed into custody by the officials- in Azkaban." She felt even more ill when she thought of little Sigurd in Azkaban- for the sole crime of being unfortunate enough to be sired by such a man.

"They will not find out," Dumbledore promised her. "Not from anyone, and certainly not from me." He frowned. "But this will makes things difficult. In order to keep Sigurd and his mother safe, along with the rest of your family, we will have to keep this revelation a secret. And to do this, will place not only me but us both in a very serious position."

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I must conceal Sigurd's paternity for his and his mother's own safety as well as the rest of your family. So far, only Voldemort as an imminent threat, knows of your husband's ancestor being King Arthur. But he may not be the only danger. Furthermore, I, sadly, cannot expect all ministry officials to be reasonable. Not if Voldemort is to become as dangerous as I expect he will be. To reveal that locket being given and worn by Athelinda, Sigurd's mother, then this will mean that they only need to place the pieces of the puzzle together. And few people in the world will be reasonable enough to defend them."

Alarissa winced and looked down. She was frowning deeply. "The human world is fraught with prejudices. If there is one thing I have learnt is that despite all that my family have tried to warn me, this prejudice is worse than I can possibly imagine. I mean no offence, of course, to those such as yourself, Headmaster," she sighed.

"None taken," Dumbledore assured her. "But there is the other problem."

"The fact that those innocent students and their families will never know justice," she whispered.

Dumbledore seemed even more ancient and bowed down now. "Yes." He agreed.

* * *

Rhaegar raced through the woods.

Voldemort was there. He knew it.

The tracking spell led him this far. He breathed out.

Dumbledore's message had been received. Alarissa was safe. He could breathe easier.

But there was one more thing to do. He needed to find out the full extent of Voldemort's strength.

And to get his friends and family to safety.

Rhaegar felt his hatred building up, like the water rising after a crack in the ocean bed results in a Tsunami. He was vengeful.

Vengefulness fed hate.

Rhaegar knew all too well.

* * *

 _May 1945…_

 _Rhaegar stood, looking at the downed man._

 _It had been so long ago, since he was a victim. Yet now, he was the victor. This man was the tormentor, now he lay at Rhaegar's feet in a bleeding heap._

 _Rhaegar's eyes were like chips of ice. Here was the man who not only tortured and captured him, but threatened and forced him to slaughter masses of innocent people. Here was the man who enjoyed brutalising and torturing young children, making them watch as they kill their parents or have the children, in a sick, twisted fancy, do it themselves._

 _He loathed this man. More than anything. He swore he would take vengeance at the earliest opportunity. Him and the rest of them._

" _Rhaegar," he heard Alarissa warn him. "Please. Lower your wand."_

 _Rhaegar reluctantly lowered his wand, as she suggested- but only slightly in case this man attempted to get up again._

" _Different, isn't it?" Rhaegar said softly. "When you are on the receiving end, tell me, how does it feel_ now _?"_

 _At the man's silence, Rhaegar roughly prodded him with his foot. "Answer me." He demanded._

 _The man kept wheezing. "Does it…pain you?" Rhaegar hissed._

 _The man nodded fearfully. "Yes."_

" _Does it…" Rhaegar continued. "Immobilize you?"_

 _The man whimpered, like a coward._

" _Yes," he whispered._

 _Rhaegar knelt down. "So tell me," he whispered, loud enough for the man to hear._

" _Why did you expect those children to work and fight for you if they cannot even move when you_ immobilise _them?"_

 _The man was shaking._

" _Answer," Rhaegar said dangerously._

" _I…" He whimpered. "I didn't-"_

" _That's a child's excuse if any." Rhaegar said. He stood. "Make up a better one. I did. So did all the people you forced me to_ kill _." His voice was laden with fire._

 _The man whimpered further._

" _That woman in Slovakia, do you remember her?" He whispered. "That blond woman who was dragged after a good fight, thrown down in front of us- you remember her?"_

 _The man quivered._

" _You told- no, ordered, I believe you_ ordered _me to kill her," Rhaegar drawled. "Isn't that right? And you told me that if I didn't you would kill another young boy. You were cunning. You knew that I was no longer afraid of death. But you knew that I couldn't let that happen." He went on mercilessly. "So I killed her. I didn't spare her. Now, if I didn't spare that innocent woman, why should I spare_ you _?"_

 _When the man didn't answer him, Rhaegar prodded him harshly. "Answer me."_

 _The man shook visibly._

" _Rhaegar," Alarissa said firmly. She swallowed._

" _I think," she said softly. "That it's enough." She gestured towards the man. Alarissa's eyes could see what humans could not. This man was already dying by the time Rhaegar got to him._

" _He will die." Alarissa promised. The man shook even more. "I can hear. His heart is weakening, he is bleeding from the inside long before you got to him. He has less than an hour to live." He might have already been dying, but Rhaegar made sure of that, with his vengeance. Alarissa chose not to tell him that._

 _Rhaegar stood. The man was shaking so much, his bones could have rattled out of him for all Rhaegar knew._

" _Fine." Rhaegar said._

" _Let's go," Alarissa said. "He's going to die." Rhaegar said quietly. "Should I end his suffering? Or bring him to a medic so he can be handed to the Dementors later on in Azkaban?"_

 _Rhaegar stood._

" _Let's leave him here." Alarissa explained._

 _She had made a swift and has decision. If they knew what Rhaegar did… He had long since wanted this man to pay, after all he had done, who wouldn't? But if the Ministry or the Clan knew he had taken vengeance out on this man… They wouldn't trust him anymore. Even though they did the same- hypocritical really- Rhaegar was still a junior officer. He would be in serious trouble._

" _Please." Alarissa said, knowing that this man would die- at least it wouldn't take hours. The other soldiers must not find Rhaegar here, and they must not hear this man testifying against Rhaegar. He could be court-marshalled. Imprisoned at worst, or fined._

 _Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "Very well." He turned on his heel and he and Alarissa left, Alarissa casting an illusion spell of her own folk to make sure no one saw._

* * *

Rhaegar knew just how easy, in the heat of hatred and rage, to forget about doing the right thing. Centuries ago, wizards and witches had been burned on the stake or in Britain or Salem, hanged. They were persecuted and hunted for something they could not help. But when wizards and witches fought back in hatred and rage, the more reasonable people wanted peace. Yet when the Muggles persisted, that was when they realised they had to break with the Muggle world. And look what happened then. The magical community grew angry, hateful and thirsty for vengeance. Muggle-hunting was no longer legal, but their hatred passed down through generations. And clouded their good judgement.

Alarissa. She had saved him. He wasn't cowardly, yet she knew. She sacrificed her own conscience at that moment to save Rhaegar. Even though the man had committed evil, Rhaegar knew he should have done the right thing and not tormented him. He should have apprehended him, took him into custody and then delivered him to medics so he would be fit to stand trial. Even though Dementors were worse than death, Rhaegar knew he didn't leave him be for _that_ reason.

Rhaegar sighed. An immortal falling in love with a mortal. What hadn't Alarissa sacrificed for him? She could have lived a blissful, free life amongst her peoples, not needing or wanting anything, not fearing death or the loss of her loved ones. She could have married an immortal, and have immortal children. She didn't have to live in a bigoted, prejudiced society as the human world. Yet when he fell in love with her, it was requited- by some miracle it was.

Even when free, Rhaegar didn't always do the right thing. Looking back at Athelinda, Voldemort himself, and a number of others…

But he couldn't falter now. Voldemort would show none of them any mercy.

He had to make sure he died, even if it meant searching out the horcrux himself.

He just had to.

But he owed it to Alarissa- for all she had sacrificed to be with him- and his unborn child- to make it back alive.

* * *

*"Evil Filth!"

**"S**t!"

* * *

 **I'm really sorry to anyone who, by some miracle, judging that this story is mostly unheard of and unknown- possibly crap, is following this story. This was on Hiatus, and I admittedly, lost a lot of confidence, for one thing in this storyline. Not even Lady of Serpents was as 'unknown' as this. And the writer's block for this thing- terrible. It wasn't the only story I had problems with.**

 **To my Guest reviewer- thank you so much, you restored my faith! I'm glad you don't think this is an unconventional love story! Thank you!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry about the fact that I haven't updated for months! I didn't know the right way to go with this story. But I suppose I have had help and inspiration.**

* * *

 **To Guest Reviewer: Thank you so much! I'm sorry I didn't update sooner, I just needed a fresh way of looking at this and finding out where to go from here. And thank you- I thrive on complexity and challenge!**

* * *

Discoveries and Decisions

" _ **Whenever you feel like criticizing any one...just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."**_

 _ **F. Scott Fitzgerald.**_

" _ **Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future."**_

 _ **William Wordsworth.**_

* * *

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. He was in disguise but there was still a risk of being conspicuous.

Eyes narrowing, Rhaegar knew that at least Alarissa and their child would be safe with Dumbledore.

No, all he had to worry for now was to stop that damned Voldemort and keep himself alive so he could go home, before Voldemort could kill anyone else.

The Vǫlva said that another was meant to kill him, but Rhaegar planned to temporarily stop him as much as he could.

In any way he could.

Well, if it wasn't bad enough, Rhaegar thought. People were gossiping about this latest incident. He spotted several disgruntled people- possibly witnesses- and some excited ones, eagerly talking or complaining to eager reporters.

Rhaegar needed to get this done. He wanted nothing more to get back to his wife and unborn child. But right now, he had a job to do and he needed to do it well and with extreme precision.

Rhaegar knew that the odds were stacked highly against him. Who knew what Tom Riddle had learnt and gone through throughout the years? Athelinda did to an extent, but right now, she was thankfully, safely out of his reach along with her son.

And he could not do this alone. He would be damned if Riddle- no, _Voldemort_ , he had to remember that- was stupid enough to let things slide. Or simply flee. He might have been unable to soil his shoes, letting his damned henchman do his dirty work for him, but Voldemort was brilliant to the core. He was blind in some ways, but not entirely and certainly not stupid.

Rhaegar had to plan this carefully. The execution of his plan had to be meticulous.

Starting with his birth.

* * *

Athelinda had told him that Voldemort was a half-blood. Where was he born? Who were his parents?

He had been raised in a Muggle Orphanage.

What signs were there? Did they mistreat the children?

Rhaegar took a deep breath.

He had disguised himself successfully. His hair was brown, slightly longer, and his eyes were blue-grey. His skin was fairer, and his features were different- longer nose and narrower jaw, softer cheekbones and wider mouth with thin lips. It wasn't Polyjuice. Rhaegar simply didn't have the time to brew such a thing now.

Where was Tom Riddle born? He simply took a trip to the Ministry. Someone on the inside- who was a clan member, gave him something regarding Voldemort.

It was _Wool's Orphanage_. He had been born there as a child.

And so Rhaegar found himself in London, on its doorsteps.

He rang the bell.

A young woman opened the door. She blinked. "Oh… Hello," she said. "May I help you?"

"Yes, may I speak to… Whoever is in charge of this establishment?" He asked gently. "I mean no trouble, I assure you."

He hoped not.

The young woman nodded nervously. "That would be Mrs. Cole." She stepped back and held the door open for him. "I'll bring you to her. She's older now, and a bit… Well her health isn't the same as it used to be."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Rhaegar said sincerely. He also hoped that this Mrs. Cole had been the one in charge of the orphanage when Tom Riddle was born.

The woman-worker led him to a little sitting room and asked him to wait. It was a while later that an old woman with greying hair appeared.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" Mrs. Cole rasped.

"My name is Mathew Hardy," Rhaegar lied. "I'm a social worker in the development of young children in institutions. I come from a government-funded company," he handed Mrs. Cole a blank pamphlet. She took it and he silently waved his wand beneath his heavy coat. Her gaze went blank for a second. She nodded.

"I have heard reports concerning one of your former orphans here," Rhaegar continued. "His name is Tom Riddle."

Mrs. Cole went blank for a second. "Oh, that one," she rasped. "Yes, I remember him." She sat down.

"Yes?" Rhaegar asked.

"It's been so long ago."

Rhaegar frowned inwardly. "Would you mind telling me when he was born and who brought him here?" He asked, praying that Tom Riddle had not been dumped in the orphanage's front step while the person ran away.

"It was his mother. She was due to give birth, that woman," Mrs. Cole nodded sagely. "New Year's Eve, 1926." She looked pleased that she remembered the date. Being so old, she had been quite forgetful recently. "A young woman. She showed up at my doorstep, heavily pregnant. She was brought in, shown to a bed. She looked starved that woman. Not healthy in her condition. Her clothes- an old dress- looked worn, not suited for the cold. She can't have eaten in days."

Rhaegar winced. That was truly horrible. He couldn't understand- if the mother was a witch- why people like the Ministry had let it slide. Or the Muggle government. She was going to have a baby for Merlin's sake!

"We brought her in. She had the baby in an hour. And within another hour she was dead."

Rhaegar was even more stunned.

"That's horrible," he said quietly. "Did he say anything about the boy's father?"

"As a matter of fact, she did," Mrs. Cole again sounded pleased. "She said the boy's name was to be Tom after his father. Middle name; Marvolo, after her father. And his surname was to be Riddle."

So that was what he knew about them. The father's name was Tom as well. The mother's father had been a man called Marvolo. It did not sound like an ordinary name. More like the aristocratic names the older Pure-Blood families were used to- names including those with roots in Atlantean, though this was not one of them. So he could bet that the mother's family were wizards. And Riddle…"

"Anything else?" Rhaegar pressed.

"She said, 'I hope he looks like his Papa.' And she was right to hope it- she could never be pretty. Cross-eyed, with a plain, heavy face, not just thin as a scarecrow. But the boy grew up, and I must say he grew to be very handsome. If not the handsomest young lad we've seen. Gave the younger girls a distraction, made them nervous. But Tom never showed an interest in them. In fact, he seemed to get all airs and graces after he attended this aristocratic school when he was eleven…"

Mrs. Cole slurred. And Rhaegar noticed a glass of gin sitting on the table next to a bottle. She also looked perplexed, like she was trying to remember something, but didn't really bother much about it and allowed it to slide in the end.

"He left when he was abou' eighteen?" She looked puzzled. "Seventeen?" Mrs. Cole appeared slightly cross. Her memory was finally lapsing. Again.

"Ah. I see." Rhaegar nodded his head. "I would like to mention that I am here also to inspect the orphanage, as per my instructions." Mrs. Cole nodded, not really caring.

She took him on a tour around the orphanage. Rhaegar was further stunned into silence and not in a pleasant way. There was no sign of abuse, or even neglect. They looked reasonably healthy and cared. But he would never allow his own child within a mile-and-a-half of this place. It was grim and full of misery wallowed in medicine, it seemed. He smelled Muggle medicine.

This was the world which Tom Riddle had been born and grew up in. And Rhaegar could believe that nobody had ever come looking for him.

Ever.

Thus the more saddened and depressed faces of the orphans there. Rhaegar winced internally. He was shocked and saddened further now. It was nowhere near as brutal as his treatment as a child on the hands of his master. But it was still so miserable an existence, so hopeless that… He began to see how the seeds of resentment grew in Tom Riddle. Rhaegar had been surrounded by a strong family unit all his life- even if his sister Athelinda went 'renegade' at some point. No one can't have cared how well Tom Riddle did in his Muggle school. No one can't have cared if some bully stole some food from him. And no one would have mourned or missed him if he had dropped dead- they would only care about if they would get into trouble. Rhaegar doubted they would ever take the time to bury the boy with a proper funeral.

When he left Rhaegar modified her memory. He also waited, invisible, for the young woman he had met to come. He cast another memory charm on her.

Rhaegar sighed heavily.

* * *

Rhaegar went back to the Ministry. And from there, Rhaegar managed- somehow- to find a Marvolo in connection to a family called Riddle in the archives. He had been eager.

Until he discovered the family was dead.

From what he had gleaned, Marvolo was named Marvolo Gaunt- he was the father of Morfin and Merope Gaunt. His wife- a first cousin, Rhaegar was disturbed to see- had died years before. Marvolo's family the Gaunts had been immeasurably wealthy once, Rhaegar read. But they had fallen low before Marvolo was even born. Rhaegar knew the pattern. The Gaunts must have intermarried for generations. The result? The gene pool must have grown shallow and muddied. Offspring were born with mental or physical defects- or even both if truly unfortunate, or the inbreeding were extended for long periods of time. Muggles did not know this, though a few suspected. But wizards were beginning to understand and Rhaegar was disgusted at the fact that they chose to ignore it- pure blood being more prized than sanity or health in their offspring. Naturally, Rhaegar remembered Mrs. Cole saying that the girl- Merope Gaunt- had been cross-eyed. The Gaunts must have had mental instability as they were unusually impoverished- even for old fallen aristocrats- by the time Marvolo was living just outside a Muggle village called Little Hangleton with his two children.

The reports showed that Morfin Gaunt attacked a Muggle. Huh, go figure. Morfin and his family were Pure-Blood supremacists. Rhaegar shook his head. Even if they had no contact with Voldemort throughout his adult life…

But the report also showed that the Muggle he attacked was named Tom Riddle- an aristocratic Muggle, a son of a squire. Rhaegar's eyes widened. Voldemort's father. Could he… Could he have attacked Riddle because…

Because of his sister, Rhaegar thought. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? A Muggle Morfin Gaunt had attacked being the same one his sister Merope had had a child with. But why didn't they kill her too? Or harm her, if they knew she was carrying his child. But then he saw the date. No, Voldemort was not yet born, probably not even conceived. Had Riddle been conducting a secret affair with Merope Gaunt this whole time and Morfin somehow found out or suspected? Caught him trying to sneak in? Rhaegar winced. That can't have gone well for the poor girl anymore than her lover. Ogden's reports about the family's treatment of her were… Alarming.

But there was more. There had to be. By the description Mrs. Cole gave him, Rhaegar knew that Merope Gaunt did not in the least resemble her son. An impoverished, possibly eccentric family with a fantastical hatred towards the Muggles they were forced to live near as opposed to Riddle's family… Maybe she broke those boundaries, and so did he. But remembering Tom Riddle's handsome face in Hogwarts, perfect in every way, Rhaegar could not help but see two people who appeared to be complete opposites in every way. An aristocratic Muggle- very wealthy by the sounds of it, and incredibly handsome, possibly the apple in the eyes of young Muggle girls, pretty as they came, in the surrounding area. And Muggle or not, he knew snobs. As a member of the elite, Tom Riddle Senior would have been invited to every party, every ball, dinner and social event there was. He probably would have had all the attention too. So why did he choose a girl as poor as could be, not even pretty, and from a family of outcasts who hated everyone that lived near them? Merope Gaunt must have been kept as far away as could be from the Muggles by her family. Judging from the reports- alarming ones, made by a certain Bob Ogden, that Marvolo Gaunt had strangled his daughter and…

Rhaegar froze dead. Slytherin. Marvolo Gaunt had strangled- or almost strangled his daughter, by dragging the girl by a chain on her neck, holding a locket that he claimed belonged to Salazar Slytherin. He had brandished it to Ogden demanding and showing off his ancestry. It could have been a lie. A mistake. But how else would he- a man of such poverty- gain a priceless artefact unless…

He was descended from Slytherin. And Rhaegar was stunned- horrified into silence, as he realised that there indeed had been an heir of Slytherin when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and Myrtle Warren- a ghost now- had been killed.

Tom Riddle had done it. He had indeed done it. And Rhaegar had somehow always sensed- somehow had this intuition- that Tom had been connected to the murders, because he had immediately came up with a 'culprit'- Hagrid, right after Dippet announced that the school might be closing down if the murders did not stop. Rhaegar had found it too suspicious. And Dumbledore had to. But he could not connect Tom Riddle to the murders with actual concrete evidence. No one could.

And didn't Athelinda say that he had given her a locket with an S set in emeralds? Emeralds- Slytherin's colour. S- the Slytherin mark.

"No," he breathed.

That was impossible and yet…

It _was_. Slytherin's line was very old. If they had somehow, miraculously survived yet continued their custom of intermarriage as the centuries went by, of course the defects both mental and physical would have gotten worse. They may have been unstable enough- like Marvolo- to squander their family fortune.

This was by far, not good. If Voldemort was indeed the heir to a sorcerer by the likes of Salazar Slytherin, he would have inherited powers beyond the ordinary wizard, no matter if all the gold had gone. But how far? And to what extent?

Yet another horrifying thought entered him: Sigurd. Voldemort knew he was going to have a powerful son- thanks to Athelinda's foolish use of her rare power. Sigurd would have inherited those powers. And Voldemort would never rest until he had claimed the boy as his own- his heir- to continue the bloodline and to do his bidding. Side by side. Father and son. The mother too, if he had her. Nothing would stand in their way.

White now, Rhaegar searched the remainder of the file. Marvolo had been making incomprehensible noises to his son and daughter. His son was talking back. It was during this so-called _conversation_ that a Muggle had strolled by. A young Muggle man whom Ogden had later bumped into. A dark-haired Muggle- the same one, they realised, that Morfin had attacked. Morfin made noises that sounded like hissing. And Rhaegar could bet a hundred Galleons that they were communicating in Parseltongue. And Marvolo had suddenly looked very sharp. Ogden claimed that he had gone very still. And dangerously quiet. He hissed something to his daughter, who had turned stark-white and was shaking her head as terrified as could be.

Then, Marvolo attacked. He lunged, his hands aiming for his daughter. Ogden had cried out and cast a Revulsion Jinx that made the man fall backwards. Morfin had reacted in rage and began brandishing a knife and several hexes at Ogden who had to flee, but returned with reinforcements no later than fifteen minutes.

Horrified, stunned, shell-shocked, Rhaegar just stood there, absorbing what this young woman the mother of his arch-nemesis had gone through in her life. And he knew how it ended. Athelinda had told him that when Tom Riddle Senior discovered his wife was a witch, he had promptly left her. And she had been pregnant by the time she had been living on the streets and stumbled into Wool's Orphanage. Only God knew where she was buried.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the sense of horror (there it was again) and pity that he felt for Merope and for, surprise as it was, Tom Riddle Junior. He had ignored the boy in his earlier Hogwarts years, believing him quite capable of taking care of himself as a young student. It certainly seemed so. He did not appear bullied, and Rhaegar always kept a sharp eye towards other students back then. And Rhaegar had judged and loathed him so quickly. Now he knew why the boy was what he was. And he was ashamed not to have looked into this sooner. And there was the realisation that Voldemort and Merope Gaunt might have been one in hundreds, if not thousands, if not millions, of people who lived like this and ended the way they did. And nobody knew. And nobody cared.

Rhaegar closed his eyes.

If only things could be different. And only now was Rhaegar ashamed to look back at his background as well as judging Tom Riddle so quickly (though murder was not an excuse). Beyond his time as one of the Children of the Endless Night, Rhaegar had been unbelievably fortunate. Unimaginably wealthy. No need to work, yet they gained more than enough money investing in various shares. And he was a high-ranking commander. He was raised with all the love and warmth a child could possibly dream of. He was raised surrounded by luxury that was almost unimaginable, even to most of the wealthiest Pure-blood families in the world. Holidays overseas, exploring Muggle and Magical Culture all throughout the world. He had sampled delicious cuisines, experienced warmth and hospitality, seen sights and learned remarkable stories from people throughout the globe. The Americas, Europe, Asia, Africa, and to an extent, Oceania. In Wizarding Britain you would be hard-pressed to find a Chinese, French or any other culture's cuisine for sale. Or anything else. As a son of two exceptionally skilled mages, Rhaegar and his siblings came to Hogwarts with an advantage over their fellow students. They had started learning everything early. And he had tutoring. His marks never slipped past Outstanding, or rarely, an Exceeds Expectations.

While Tom Riddle, an orphan boy, abandoned by his father, had to start from scratch.

And now Rhaegar was ashamed. But he still had to stop him.

* * *

What happened to the Riddles, Marvolo and Morfin?

Rhaegar learnt that Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt was arrested and tried by the whole Wizengamot. For bodily assault and resistance towards Ministry Officials as well as a record of Muggle attacks made by the son Morfin. Morfin was sentenced to three years, while Marvolo received six months in Azkaban. Marvolo reportedly died not long after his return. Morfin remained at the cottage until 1943. That was when- and Rhaegar felt a tingle as he learnt this- the entire Riddle family that included the brother-in-law that Morfin never accepted, were found dead. The Avada Kedavra curse. On Mr and Mrs. Thomas and Mary Riddle as well as their son Tom. Shock on their faces. The Ministry arrested Morfin Gaunt who gleefully admitted to the charge. He even boasted of it. However, he also kept mumbling something about his ring. Rhaegar scanned the earlier file on mention of a ring. There it was. Along with the locket. Another Horcrux thing? He thought. It was Marvolo Gaunt's. And it was said to have belonged to the Peverell family.

Peverell. An ancient Pure-Blood line. Very ancient and very powerful in its day. Supposedly dead in the male line for very few women- witches or Muggles- passed on their surnames to their children. Rhaegar breathed deeply.

He had a lot to tell Dumbledore.

And then he had to find a way to find and stop Voldemort. Before anything more happens.

And Voldemort was now starting to target his family.

* * *

Alarissa couldn't stop pacing.

She knew she needed to sit down and rest. But she could barely manage to make herself _sit_.

And then Rhaegar appeared.

She was in Hogwarts. He embraced her tightly and kissed her passionately. But he needed to see Dumbledore.

Rhaegar presented Dumbledore with copies of the files.

Dumbledore read them, his eyes widening.

Rhaegar breathed deeply.

"Voldemort is the heir of Salazar Slytherin," he said flatly.

Dumbledore looked up. "Yes."

Silence.

"It could only have been him." Rhaegar spoke. His eyes were anguished. "The Chamber of Secrets, Slytherin's heir… I knew something was off when he immediately came up bearing a 'culprit' right after Headmaster Dippet said that they were likely to close the school. A culprit with little real evidence against him. I didn't know _how_ , or even if the Chamber of Secrets story was real, but I thought… As crazy as it seemed…."

"I know," Dumbledore said darkly.

"And seeing where he grew up… That orphanage. The Riddle and Gaunt families, Merope…" He shook his head in pain. Alarissa looked sombre.

"If only we knew," he said quietly. "Why was he left in that orphanage? Why did no one try to help that girl- Merope? Would things be so different if they had been better?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He removed his half-moon spectacles. "I cannot say for certain. But I do believe there might have been a chance if, yes, things had been different."

Rhaegar swallowed. "What about Athelinda? Did he… Did she actually _mean_ something to him? Did it damage him further, when she ran away from him taking their unborn child?" He felt silly for asking this, but he needed to know for certain.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "I do not believe," he said. "That Tom Riddle- otherwise known as Voldemort- would ever choose to love. In fact, I do not believe him completely- if not partially- capable of loving someone other than himself. I had seen and observed Tom Riddle throughout his school years. I taught him. I saw him surrounded by students. They were a mix- the weak who sought protection with the bigger, stronger students. The ambitious who sought glory by standing by his side. And the thuggish, who sought more refined methods of cruelty. And although they might boast, I do not believe they had ever been close enough to be his friends. Merely followers."

Rhaegar looked at him. "But Athelinda… I believe, as strange as this sounds, that Athelinda was the only one he ever truly opened his heart to. Could Voldemort, or Tom Riddle love? Perhaps not, but he came close, very close.

"She intrigued him," Dumbledore continued. "And fascinated him. Her skill, beauty, obvious high intellect and talent, combined with her knowledge, her driven ambition and how obviously set apart she was from her fellow students, Athelinda presented a fascination, an intrigue, a promise of power and mystery in her veins, that he did not perhaps envy, but was drawn to nonetheless. She was set apart even from you and your brother and sister in that day. And her reputation grew in Riddle's eyes. She was far too much to let go, and by that time, he had developed a burning fascination, obsession and even infatuation perhaps, with her. Athelinda wasn't simply powerful, beautiful, intelligent, talented and wealthy. She was power itself. And nothing is more alluring to Voldemort or Tom Marvolo Riddle than power. She had the highest prospects and chances at everything, a person of her birth and privilege. Yet she was not interested in such matters, but thirsted for more. It was a feeling of partnership and kindred spirit in the beginning, as well as mutual affection and passion. But it eventually grew to ownership in the end. She was his prize possession."

Rhaegar turned away, sickened by the truth in his words. He remembered how Athelinda had been in those years. He remembered he had not been much better- at least not in his eyes.

"Athelinda's son, Sigurd," he said slowly. "Will have inherited powers from his mother and _him_. Not to mention… Her prophetic words…" He scowled. "She will always regret them. And I cannot fault her for that."

"No," Dumbledore agreed. "Where is the boy now?"

Rhaegar looked at Dumbledore in the eye again. "Safe." He said. "I would never let them go unless I was _certain_. We both know Tom Riddle. I did not know how he came to be this way until today, but I have always known how he operates. And how he thinks." Dumbledore nodded.

"You intend to go after him," he remarked. Rhaegar felt his face draw into a scowl. "I was forewarned that another is the one to defeat him. But I cannot lie idle."

"No," Dumbledore stood. "Neither can you risk yourself. Your family is targeted now. Voldemort- if he does not already know- will suspect your line is of the Pendragon line," Rhaegar struggled not to roll his eyes. "He will also be searching for revenge."

"And in his eyes, I am the one who turned his wife against him, and taught his son- and potentially powerful heir- that he is a monster," Rhaegar said flatly.

"I knew about the Gaunts," Dumbledore said suddenly, causing Rhaegar to look up at him, startled.

"You… Knew?!"

"Knew, yes, but I could not understand the connection between Voldemort and Slytherin. Although I do know that they were Parselmouths. There is more to the story of Merope and Tom Riddle than I thought. And Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt."

"I heard that name before," Rhaegar said, frowning. "I just can't recall, where-"

"Ilvermorny," Dumbledore said shortly. Rhaegar looked puzzled. "The North American school?"

"The founder was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin." Dumbledore replied. "Her infamous aunt and her mother were Gaunts."

Rhaegar looked more puzzled. "It doesn't make any sense," he muttered. "Every story I heard- about the Founders… Some people even said they were myth. Salazar Slytherin… Up until the Chamber of Secrets opened, no one said a single bad thing about him. And then some people are saying he was a Pure-Blood Supremacist. And targeting Slytherins as they do so."

Dumbledore's face darkened at that. "Yes." He agreed.

"But there is no actual concrete evidence that he wanted Muggle-Borns and Muggles dead," Rhaegar protested. "Even Voldemort might just be deluded. Back in those days, witch-burnings, hangings, trials and drownings were common. They even mistook some Muggles themselves for doing those things. Slytherin would not have been alone in being suspicious. Or cautious if he wanted to see if the Muggle-Borns were truly ready to come into this world- which back then, would have meant them leaving the Muggle world for fear of persecution- even from the families that they love. It could not be easy, it could even be traumatising as well as conflicting. But the Founders of Hogwarts- all of them- as I mentioned that year, were not stupid. They would have known- the other three what Slytherin was doing. A chamber in the castle… A monster. They were four of the most powerful mages of the day. And Slytherin himself trained Merlin who treated Muggles and wizards as the same…"

"Who knew what Slytherin was and what he did? The past is in the past, Rhaegar. The more distant it is, the more clouded by the mists of time. Leave it be. Slytherin is not Voldemort and Voldemort is not Slytherin. Whatever he believes, Voldemort cannot truly justify his actions, no matter what has been done to him. He must find a means to gather his followers to him. In fact, I do not believe that Pure-Blood supremacy means as much to him as his own power."

"He just needs followers," Rhaegar realised. "They may or may not know about his Muggle heritage. He doesn't care. He might want Muggles and Muggle-Borns gone, but…"

"In his heart, power will always be his greatest love apart from himself," Dumbledore said firmly. "Even your sister will be hard-pressed, if ever, to reach that."

"Voldemort will strike soon," Rhaegar warned. Dumbledore nodded. "He's infiltrated the clan. And he's onto the Avantadors. If they find…"

"I know." Dumbledore looked very grim now.

"If what we've guessed and found out is true, then Voldemort would already have enormous powers at his disposal." Rhaegar stated. "And he won't stop there. He'll recruit with the promise of Pure-Blood Supremacy, or to unleash terror and death upon Muggles and Muggle-borns. We need more with us. And we need allies at our disposal- to stop him before he attacks. We don't even know the extent or his powers or more specifically what he can do."

Dumbledore sighed. He glanced at his pet phoenix.

"Merlin made an Order- the Order of Merlin," Rhaegar continued. "Back in its day, it wasn't an award for achievements, great or small. It was a gathering of wizards and witches devoted to fighting to save Muggles from harm or danger as well as each other. To keeping the peace between both communities." He shook his head. "Where has that gone now? Muggles are totally vulnerable. When Grindelwald came, he often took Muggles. Most Muggles ended up killed in action or in one of those abominable Nazi camps. But Grindelwald had camps of his own too. And we were vulnerable then. The only reason he didn't attack Britain, was because of you."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly.

"We need another order- like the first Order of Merlin. Not just armies that requires time to mobilise. The clan can't be here all the time- our country is in the continent. We need to fight this evil."

Dumbledore opened his eyes and kept gazing at his phoenix. It stopped and looked up, regarding him with its shiny black eyes.

Then Fawkes- who had reached a burning day, caught fire.

Dumbledore was unperturbed and Rhaegar- and Alarissa who sat quietly all this time in the background observing and listening- watched.

The small conical pile of ashes lay there, for a few moments undisturbed.

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "We must revert back to what we were before at that time. Not just achievements of our own, but as a community. We need to rise up. The former Order of Merlin, the Knights of the Round Table are all gone. But sometimes," he stood. "Things may rise again from the ashes."

As if on cue, a baby phoenix burst its tiny head through the pile of ashes, and began squawking in its renewed life.

It was the beginning of something renewed.

* * *

Rhaegar looked around him. He had gathered very few people whom he could trust. They were small. And not all of them were clan members. There were one or two from other Atlantean clans who had been alarmed and Rhaegar had told them about the culprit. It was too dangerous to tell anyone else about Voldemort's origins. Voldemort would react badly to someone that gave hints of knowing about his unwanted past.

A number came from the Wizarding community in Britain. They were very few, but they were a start.

"I have told you the names of those I know to be involved," Rhaegar began slowly. "And both Dumbledore and I know who the culprit is for certain. But we must be careful. There may be many more. And the Volsung clan has been infiltrated. My guess is that Voldemort has infiltrated the other clans- if not, then it is still too risky and he will infiltrate them soon enough." He looked at each and every single one of them in the eye.

"We are in grave danger, more danger than we can imagine," he began slowly. "This is not like Grindelwald. He might have reached the heights of history, but even Gellert Grindelwald had his limits to what he wanted to do including Dark Magic." Rhaegar breathed deeply. "Voldemort intends on doing more. He is concerned with his own power and blood purity comes next. Nothing else matters, not any life; Muggle, Muggle-born, Half-Blood, Magical Beings of all races, Squibs or even Pure-bloods. He would trample all in his way, seek to consume and destroy them with dark magic. This person has no limits. And though he is young, he has already experimented so deeply with dark magic that I cannot even comprehend what will happen if he gains possession of an army." Rhaegar took a deep breath.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said quietly. "This will be the most important fight of our lives. No matter how long it lasts."

They absorbed all this, some of them veterans in the war with Grindelwald, and prepared for what needed to be done.

* * *

Katerina closed her eyes.

"I take it the talk with Rhaegar didn't go so well?" Andreas asked gently.

"He knows," she murmured quietly. "And he'll never forgive me."

"Did he say that?"

"No," Katerina looked up despairingly at him. "But I could tell."

"You're not a seer, Katerina," Andreas replied as he sat down beside her.

"If you've told him the whole story, then he will understand," he said after a while. "He loves you and that will not change."

"He loves us all," Katerina said looking sadly at him. "But I failed them all. Athelinda... She walked out on us and into _his_ arms, because we did not see clearly what she was experiencing; the problems at that time. I even failed her as a baby, allowing her to be taken like that. It's a miracle the Mother Naga ever gave her back to us. Willamar... He'll never leave his grief. His heart will always be broken for the rest of his life. His spirits will never lift again. Philomena... I allowed her to have her own way, to become foolish. She made the same mistake as I did- as Athelinda did. Right into his arms. I hate him. Him and his family. And Rhaegar..." She trailed off.

"During that terrible time... I thought about all what he was experiencing. All the suffering, all the pain, horror and torture... That was done to _him_. _Our son_. He was so small then," She was breaking down now. "And he was beaten, tortured, magically or not, starved, forced to kill, beaten with hot irons or barbed whips for the smallest displeasure he gave them. Or the Cruciatus Curse. Are you telling me I haven't failed, Andreas? In keeping my children safe? Because we have no excuse for what happened to Rhaegar. None at all."

Andreas' face was more aggrieved now, and he embraced her and held her close. The best thing was that they taught their children well. But protect them... He couldn't deny, in that regard they were failures for parents.

Katerina sniffled, and wiped her eyes.

"I can't make excuses for either of us," Andreas said carefully. "But I want you to know that I was just as responsible for these children as you were. And while we all know that our decisions affect the future, there are some things that are inevitable. Rhaegar did not die in the Children of the Endless Night. Instead he grew stronger than ever. He grew more courageous. He survived the worst of the worst. He grew more intelligent, more bold, more strong and braver than we could have ever moulded him ourselves. We would both give our lives for him and the rest of them. But Rhaegar will never need that. Why? Because I believe he is meant to shine brighter than the brightest star. He may or may not defeat this _Voldemort-_ " Katerina flinched for some reason- "by himself. But he will most certainly make sure the world and Voldemort knows his name by the time their end has come. He will save and protect more people than we can ever possibly count or imagine, and Rhaegar will be there, standing at the end of this, when the end has come and all has fallen. They all will."

Katerina was silent.

"And Sigurd?" She asked. "And Rhaegar's unborn child?"

"Their destiny has yet to be forged," Andreas said cautiously. "But they will shine and make it through this storm. I know they will."

They stared into the fire just beginning to burn at its strongest now.

* * *

There were so many. So many followers. And attacks.

The first attack had come. In East Britain. Fires burned and raged. A terrible storm had fallen.

Weeks past while Dumbledore gathered as many fighters and allies as he possibly could. So did Rhaegar. He did everything to mobilise the clan but he did not dare approach Kataris. Not now he knew it had been infiltrated.

Several bridges fell. Storms came and went. News went by. The Muggles were living in a state of fear, in Britain, Ireland and the continent.

They couldn't understand why these freak storms, hurricanes, tornadoes- of all things- earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, wildfires and much more were happening. They couldn't count for the number of people that went missing or somehow ended up dead. Mysterious illness- a pandemic? Why did some people look or end up in shock? Why did they end up dead, from a house that was locked on the inside, when it did not look like gas leakages had occurred or anything out of the ordinary?

Meanwhile in the Wizarding world, people were going crazy. The Ministries had been tasked with keeping everyone calm, and the Muggles from finding out. But people there were freaking out as well. Now, masked men and women in black appeared out of nowhere, and they were destroying, demolishing, abducting, torturing and murdering anyone. Down to the last child. And always once, they had done so, the shrieks of glee that a few made, were _nothing_ compared to the mark they always conjured up in the sky, every time they appeared and disappeared. Every time they killed or brutally maimed someone with Dark Magic.

But in the meantime, things got worse. Reports of tortures, quick and casual murders, mutilations and uses of Dark Magic the likes anyone had never seen before appeared along with the attacks. The few witnesses to such things needed serious treatment for what they had just heard. Much less the ones that actually witnessed these things and those that experienced those. These people left some alive, though beyond any normal measure of sanity, that screamed and spread rumours and stories like wildfire. Most of them were exaggerated possibly due to their terror. But they remained locked in Saint Mungo's reportedly, for life. People heard them screaming all the way, and saw what had been done to them by these people.

Healers in Saint Mungo's whispered that they had never seen such Dark Magic before. The Aurors too reported likewise. And so these reports went wild, often exaggerated. Fear, terror, dark magic usage and more news cropped up. Their attacks came without warning. Dark magic beyond anyone's worst imagining. Soon word got out. Despite the goblins staying on the wizard's side- more or less neutral- many left. Vampires, werewolves, Inferi, all manners of dark creatures and some giant tribes that rose up and in favour of these people. Dark wizards and witches, dark creatures assembling an army or armies put together, that included mass armies of inferi. And that they were being attacked- people were being attacked anywhere. And all their victims became inferi.

They attacked here and there and everywhere. They had yet to seen full-scale war as the Ministry hesitated to declare war, since the Global Wizarding War.

Soon reports and sightings,. And more news came up. Worse things. More things happening. People being targeted out of random, and for unknown reasons. It was more here than on the continent. But it was spreading. Dark magic beyond anyone's twisted use, cropped up and consumed anyone who wasn't even anywhere near it. Rumours of people disappearing late in the night. Finding houses destroyed demolished. Stories about people coming home to see their houses had that mark cast up above them. What they found inside...

The Dark Mark now hovered above entire cities.

Stories about people who had been released by them, more mutilated and beyond repair by use of Dark Magic. All in the name of a Dark Lord named Voldemort. To sow the fear and terror until it became unbearable.

Stories that made the fear rise so high it really was unbearable.

Sightings of dark creatures beyond anyone's means.

Everywhere. There was no one that didn't know anyone who had been murdered, tortured, kidnapped, or damaged for life.

And more. Someone told of the person daring to say Voldemort's name out loud in a village. The Death Eaters were lying in wait, with powerful dark magic at their disposal. So powerful and terrifying that no one dared to speak about it. A man said the name casually and that was their sign to attack.

There was no way to know where they would strike next and from. Why or how.

Rhaegar was right. Not even Grindelwald had ever gone as far as this.

The problem was that Rhaegar, Dumbledore and whoever stood with them did not have that much time. Rhaegar and Dumbledore were already doing whatever they could to keep the goblins happy and from joining the group that Voldemort had assembled.

Rhaegar had been enraged. He gathered as many people as he could- not just clan members- and began training them. Members of Atlantean clans, ordinary wizards and witches from all over Europe and Asia. Even Aurors from the Ministries. Rhaegar had them all lined up and trained as hard as they could. His aim to create an elite fighting force more than capable of dealing with this threat. Since the Ministry refused to acknowledge that it was going to last. And that this was a Dark Lord, and they were at war. Ordinary peacekeepers and Dark Wizard catchers weren't going to be enough. They needed warriors. And allies.

Goblins. Fey. Centaurs. Giants. They liked Dumbledore.

But it wasn't enough. Rhaegar knew the signs of all this- Voldemort had been planning this in years. Probably even when he was still in school.

And far worse things happened.

* * *

 _29th May 1953..._

"Reports are coming in fast. I know that there is infiltration everywhere, they have made that clear, but I don't believe that it is everyone!" Rhaegar snapped.

Bartemius Crouch wrote things down eagerly.

"The fact is that we need allies. It's no use trying to say that this will be brief when no necessary measures have been taken. We do not need more peacekeepers- they are beyond reason. As for Dark Wizard catchers, not even they are enough! We need allies and we need soldiers. Can anyone deny that they have seen anything like this even during Grindelwald's reign of terror?"

There were mutterings of agreement, the clicking and flashing of photographers and shouts of agreement coming from the witnesses.

Rhaegar stood in the Ministry of Magic, a political debate in front of the International Confederation of Wizards and representatives of the Atlantean Clans. Faced with opposition from the Ministry in Britain- who seriously doubted- being too afraid- that there was serious need to acknowledge the need for soldiers not peacekeeping Aurors, and those that merely capture and herd the criminals to Azkaban- Rhaegar faced more opposition. From various Ministries and MACUSA and even members of his own clan, much less other clans. Reporters eagerly wrote everything down, whilst a man named Bartemius Crouch who had now worked his way up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was writing and listening devotedly to every word Rhaegar said.

"Can any of you deny that in the last months what you have heard, seen and felt from and for yourself, your family or anyone else, compares to what you have felt during Grindelwald's reign of terror? You have seen the images- the victims, the survivors who may not be considered completely lucky, and we have heard testimony from those who have fought and Healers who have tended to the injured. This is like no other threat we have ever faced before. And things will only get worse. We can unite, or we may fall."

There was a round of applause.

People were applauding them. Rhaegar didn't want this. He didn't want to be the one to herd them into war. Open war. or guerrilla warfare. But if he didn't do it...

He needed to get things done.

And there was the matter of Sigurd and Athelinda. He knew Voldemort would be hunting for them. He had no doubt they would be safer in New Zealand living amongst the magical or Muggle community. It was on the other side of the world, even farther than Australia and too cut-off from the conflicts and dangers from other countries, especially the ones in the Northern Hemisphere. Not to mention that the New Zealand Ministry of Magic had censored, screened and did much more to anyone entering the country and kept track on those that left. They also censored and kept track of all forms of transportation and communication- Muggle or Magical- and Athelinda reported- through the use of the Atlantean Mirrors which could not be traced.

She told him that Sigurd was happy there though he missed his family. Rhaegar knew that Sigurd had to return to Britain to be educated in Hogwarts. First off, because he was born a citizen of Great Britain and Rhaegar wanted him to have all the benefits he could gain especially with his family there to oversee and tutor him. Oh, he was certain New Zealand had schools of magic that were more than fully capable and Athelinda could do everything herself anyway. But Rhaegar knew that they could not shield Sigurd forever as that would make him vulnerable. But for now, he wanted his nephew to have the full experience of a happy, idyllic childhood, untroubled by war or that monster.

If only this direct family including his unborn child, could do the same.

Alarissa was getting bigger, it definitely showed that she was pregnant now. The baby was due in July. It was getting harder and harder to keep mother and child safe and secret. Rhaegar and everyone, witch, wizard, House Elf or Fey used whatever they could to conceal them and keep them safe. But Alarissa insisted that Rhaegar be there for the birth.

It would not be easy. But Rhaegar felt he owed the child that much.

Rhaegar kept pressing things on. He was sure they would bend. They had no choice to. The public pressure was enormous. And the Minister for Magic Wilhemina Tuft was presiding over a period of peace and prosperity, which she was used to, they needed to step up measures. And to make allies instead of offending every magical creature, being or beast that they could find and trying to subjugate them under completely human laws.

He just had to be careful every step of the way.

And now Voldemort knew their secret. He was sure of it.

Voldemort knew the secret of the Artrigos family.

Rhaegar left them to debate things out, irritably wishing he could drift off. Alarissa. His unborn child. His thoughts and dreams were about her constantly as well as his worries and fears.

No matter what these people said, they could not afford to wait any longer.

They needed to act _now_. And Rhaegar was planning something for that night.

* * *

 **Ugh! I'm so sorry! I accidentally deleted part of this, the one that summed up Voldemort's rise to power and prominence through terror, and I had to sum it up. I don't think it's as good though. For those of you that are reading this (somehow) but don't follow on all news on J.K Rowling, Ilvermorny is the North American school and its founder was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and the Irish witch Morrigan. I admit I just couldn't resist putting that in here! And MACUSA is the Magical Congress of the United States of America. I'm sure you'll see it in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.**

 **And yes! I know that Voldemort's rise to power was in the sixties, mainly but here, I'm making him go on in the decades. What had he been doing all this time- only planning?**


End file.
